Trials Unending
by faceted-mind
Summary: After his return from Antarctica, Remy's trials are far from over. RemyLogan slash
1. Chapter 1

Title: Trials Unending

Author: Faceted Mind

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Summary: After his return from Antarctica, Remy's trials are far from over.

Warnings: For this chapter… nada (save a little medical info-blast which despite researching may or may not be accurate, forgive me anyone who reads it and shakes their heads in annoyance, I am no medic) oh, and a little British spelling, which I'm sure you can forgive me for.

Notes: This is AU, for how Remy gets back to the Mansion and in what state. No glowy green ladies here. :D Also unbetaed, as I have yet to get hold of an x-men beta. So all mistakes my own.  
Added Note: I have only recently noticed the stunning similarities between this story and the LOTR story "An Orc's Tale". I'm going to put to you that this was completely accidental, and the similarities shouldn't persist for too long.

Pairing: Future Logan/Remy, but not just yet ;)

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"Hello?" The voice on the telephone seemed distant and distorted in Hank's ear as he returned the greeting with his customary verboseness.

"Good afternoon, Sir. This is the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. My name is Dr. Henry McCoy. How may I help you on this fine day?"

"Umm… I was hoping to speak to Professor Xavier himself, is that possible?"

"I'm afraid not. Could I enquire as to the nature of your call? I may be able to help you."

"My name is Dr. Stuart Patrick. I work at the McMurdo Base hospital in Antarctica…" Hank's breath caught, waiting for what he would say next. "We have a young man here with rather extraordinary eyes…"

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"A group of animal biologists were flying over the area and thought him untagged local wildlife. Needless to say as soon as they realised he was human they brought him back here. He's suffering from deep-skin frostbite in his hands and, to a lesser extent his feet, ears and nose. Serious pneumonia, though no longer life threatening - goodness knows what he was doing out there with no shirt on, he has yet to find consciousness long enough to tell us himself. He also seems to have a form of very severe snow-blindness. His rather unique eyes – the reason I contacted you, you see – seem to be very susceptible to such damage. They are obviously specialised for night-vision, I suspect even standard lighting is painfully bright to him. The glare from the snow has… well, possibly 'burnt' is the best adjective… it has burnt his cornea, or what passes for his cornea. My god, how to describe his eye-structure without inventing a whole new vocabulary…? He seems to have some form of external retina – the black scleral part of his eye. This has suffered extensive UVB damage, which I have treated as best as I can without knowing the precise nature of his optical physiology. As for the wonderful red glow… I can't even determine if that is damaged, let alone try to treat it." Hank would have liked to reassure the doctor that even with the man nearby for three years (give or take), he had still not been able to determine the nature of his red pupil. But he was talking too fast to get a word in edgeways. "He's on anti-inflammatories and pain medication for the frostbite. We put his hands and feet through the thawing process as soon as he arrived here, but the bite on his hands is severe enough to warrant daily debridement, which we have been following through with. At the moment he's resting, the affected areas are elevated with his hands splinted in the 'safe position' to restrict movement between the treatments."

"The safe position?" He finally managed to get in as the other man took a breath.

"The wrist is placed in 25° of dorsiflexion, the metacarpophalangeal joints in 75° of flexion, the interphalangeal joints are at neutral and the thumb is midway between radial and palmar abduction."

"Ah, thank you."

"This is necessary to avoid contractures of the joints that would lead to loss of mobility in the long term, you understand."

"Yes, of course. What is the risk of loss of the affected digits?"

"For now I will reserve judgement. In these cases no such extreme action is undertaken in the affected areas unless infection sets in. Amputation decisions should be left until at least four weeks, preferably two months after the incident to avoid damaging tissue that may recover in the long run or leaving behind tissue that would then have to be removed in further surgery."

They turned a corner and Hanks mind stalled, Dr. Patrick's voice drowned out by a sudden rush of blood to his brain. Remy LeBeau lay on white sheets - his own skin barely half a shade darker. His red hair lay lip about his head and a breathing tube masked most of his face. The ugly looking splints bound obviously damaged hands that were elevated on short platforms, and a heated blanket lay over his whole body. He looked… unreasonably small.

"The airway is a precaution, nothing more at this point. He hasn't regained full consciousness and with such damaging pneumonia we didn't want to take the risk of removing it." Hank's attention was drawn back to the other doctor, and he dragged his eyes from his friend's battered body.

"I understand. Has he shown any signs of consciousness?"

"He has been shifting about and at one point he spoke aloud, though he did not respond to external stimulus."

"May I ask what he said?" Hank pushed, half-fearing the answer.

"Dr. McCoy…" He hesitated. "I feel obliged at this point to ask what you know of the circumstances surrounding Remy's trip to Antarctica."

"A group of us were brought here against our wishes." Hank began hesitantly. He wanted to tell as much of the truth as he could, but knew that the exact nature of the event would not be taken well. "An as-yet-unidentified enemy held us until such time as we were able to attempt an escape. Remy was the only one to fail to make it back to our base of operations. Until you contacted me we had all thought him dead."

"He speaks of abandonment, in his restless sleep."

"I fear that was the case. One of our team said that she had seen him fall, we did not think to doubt her and time was of the essence. We had wounded." Dr. Patrick sighed, nodding.

"I understand. I had… feared that you might have left him intentionally, and that you had returned to make sure he said nothing of this to us. But there is too much pain in your eyes for me to accept that. He will need another week before he is fit to be transported. Then you may take him to your medical facility." He left Hank in the room with Remy, and a cold hard stone in his stomach.

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Remy woke slowly and the first thing he was aware of was the antiseptic smell. Waking in a lab was never a good sign, but a brief check in with his body told him that he was in no state to put up a fight. Pushing his body's complaints aside until he knew exactly how much trouble he was in, he reached out with his kinetic sense. There was a fan or some kind of ventilation system behind him that disturbed the air to his senses much as heat does the eyes and the slow audible chug was distracting. He pushed them both to the back of his mind. It was the work of a moment to determine that there was nothing alive in his immediate vicinity. Nothing to suggest anything… sinister to him. No pun intended. He turned his attention to the room itself. It was small – that in itself was reassuring. The baddies tended to like big open spaces for their torture. Determining he was safe for the time being, he focused on his own condition.

The first matter that caught his attention was the tight blindfold that stopped him from using the usual senses to scope out the room. He moved both arms upwards slowly. A sharp pain in his left inner elbow stopped him and he lowered that arm back to the bed, cataloguing the IV in his mind. Continuing to his face with the other hand he found its progress stopped short as something soft touched his face but his hand did not. Consciously going through the motions of checking on his hands he found that his wrists, tight and aching, were fixed in place with some form of splint and about half way across his palm all sensation stopped, his fingers and thumb completely numb within the bulky bandages. Pushing that discovery to one side he slid his arm across his face until his inner arm was rested against his face. Not as sensitive as his hands, but it would have to do. As his arm rested across his eyes it became obvious that what he thought had been a blindfold was in fact a bandage covering a wound as an intense pain shot through his head, intent on nailing his head to the pillow via his eyes. His automatic response was to rub at his eyes to get whatever was causing the pain out. Two large hands closed around his arms, pulling them away from his face even as he did so. He heard himself whimper and clamped down on his bottom lip with his teeth, breathing heavily to try and push away the pain. He slowly became aware of the voice talking to him as the all-encompassing pain started to subdue slightly.

"…restrain you. Really, I'm amazed you were able to avoid…"

"Henri?" He interrupted. There was a startled pause, which Remy proceeded to fill, coughing heavily as the liquid in his lungs fought for escape up his throat. He felt like he was being suffocated as the mucus shifted up and down his windpipe. A mask settled over his nose and mouth and the feeling eased a little as he breathed in the warm air deeply and brought the coughing under control.

"Remy?" The Beast's soft voice. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak further without coughing again. "My goodness, I had my doubts. You are the most mobile sleeper I have ever had the dubious pleasure of monitoring. Now that you are awake, I expect you to listen to my ramblings. You should _not_ be touching your eyes right now. Every time you rub your eyes you make the tear ducts raw. They are bleeding again, I can see it through the bandages. I am going to have to change them, I will give you a sedative…"

"Non." The word was almost a cough its self, Remy's control over his rebelling lungs tenuous.

"Remy, I don't think you are aware how painful this will be. Your eyes were badly damaged. Any light at all is going to be agony, and I cannot change your bandages in the dark."

"Pas de stupéfiant."

"My friend. If you cannot talk to me in English I will be forced to take you as mentally altered and I will administer the sedative anyway." It was harsh, he knew, but he needed to know that Remy knew what he was asking.

"No drugs, Henri." The request was clear though it was followed by a heavy bout of coughing.

"Alright then. I will turn the lights as low as I can and still work. You would be well advised to keep your eyes shut during the procedure, but do not screw them up, as this will cause irritation. I have no idea how I am going to administer the eye drops without hurting you further." With those brief instructions in place, Hank continued with the hateful task of causing a friend immense pain.

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TBC

(please review)


	2. Chapter 2

A week back in New York, and it hadn't taken Remy long to work out that fighting Hank over his dinner being shovelled into his mouth left him with a warm and delicious smelling dinner inches away from his nose and no way to get it into his mouth. No amount of whining or complaining could change the fact that he couldn't lift a knife or fork with his hands mummified, and eating without utensils was out of the question too. He was just going to have to live with it. Still, it didn't stop him griping every time Hank used the phrase "Open wide" or let a little food drip on him. He fumed with hatred, anger, betrayal, though without any definite target save the one that cared for him every day. And regardless of what anyone thought of him, he was not going to bite the hand that fed him. Metaphorically or literally.

It was almost four days after his awakening that he realised that there hadn't been any sign of any of the other X-men around in all the time he had been conscious. Curious, and a little wary once again - he resolved to ask Henri about his team mates… ex-team mate's… strange absences the next time he came to feed him. The only other time he saw the blue doctor was the daily debridement that was still carried out. He would be stuffed full of pain medication and his damaged, aching hands were tenderly unwrapped - sending shooting pains through his whole forearm as the wounds were revealed. Then (and despite the pain medication, this was still one of the most painful things he had ever had to suffer through) his hands would be put into a small heated whirlpool bath and the dead, frost-bitten skin would be literally torn from the living. He'd snorted at Hank when he'd told him the first time that he shouldn't be ashamed to cry out.

"Remy's had worse." He'd said. He'd meant the heartache of Rogue's betrayal, the biting of the cold, (minus forty he had been informed), the mental anguish of being separated from the minds and emotions that kept him stable, kept him sane from day to day. Being nearly eviscerated by Creed came pretty high too.

He screamed every time, despite his denial. It never got any easier, the feeling of having his fingers sawn off at the point where the feeling stopped became the feeling of having his whole hand skinned and then plunged into boiling water. At least Hank had decided his feet were out of danger, all digits slowly regaining feeling with a biting, hacking pinning pain. But they would be fully healed soon. And Hank might consider letting him out of this bed. Letting him go back to his comfy room and the warmth of a radiator nearby. Why was it always so cold in the lab?

"Henri?" The sound of a hand on the doorknob became the door opening and the smell of dinner, finally. He was not hungry, just going stir crazy.

"Good eventide, my Arcadian friend. I come bearing sustenance." Remy's lips quirked into a smile. He has never been able to work out why the Doctor felt the need to speak like that.

"Know dey probably don' wanna see me, Henri. But where's ev'ryone else? S'not like y' lab t' be so quiet." The sound of scraping across the floor as Hank approached with a stool. A metallic rattle as Hank placed plate and contents down on a side-table.

It suddenly occurred to Remy just how vulnerable he was. Hank could leave now, and he would die of starvation before he found any way to eat the nourishing meal less than a foot away from him. He was not sure whether he would die of the isolating loneliness first. After all… he wasn't really hungry.

Hank delayed, hesitating. It made him wonder if he really wanted to know the answer to his question. Was his presence so distasteful that the X-men had refused to use the lab while he was here? Why had Hank brought him back to this place, so rightfully angry with him? It seemed as though the very bricks of the mansion held resentment.

His thoughts were rambling, strangely disjointed. He knew Hank was giving him no sedatives or narcotics, respecting his wishes. There were only the pain killers, though even those were throwing him a little off kilter.

He wished he could press the backs of his hands to his face as he used to when he was thinking, or trying to collect himself. He doesn't. It would hurt too much, and he doesn't want to bring his own attention to the bandages around his face.

"I have yet to inform our stalwart companions of your return, Remy. You are in an intensive care room, separated from the main lab. I fear your empathy would be hard-put to deal with the kind of emotions knowledge of your presence here would undoubtedly create within your colleagues." From the outside looking in, Hank watched confusion, fear and guilt flash across Remy's face in quick succession. Even with those unique eyes behind bandages Hank could read those emotions, as plain as day. What had happened to that infallible poker face? He pondered.

"Dat's good, Henri. Dey don' need t' be hassled. Soon as Remy's well, he'll be on 'is way, neh?" The reappearance of the classic disassociative behaviour did not escape Hank, though he made no comment.

"When you're well enough, Remy, I'm going to tell them you are here and they are going to come down here and apologise to you for an unacceptable breach of common civility. What we did was completely unjust, and was driven by several convoluted and for the most part wrong conclusions and opinions. It is unacceptable."

"Why'd she do it, Henri? Am I dat bad a person? What I did… was unforgivable. But I bin tryin' t' make it right." Hank spent a moment trying to understand Remy's question, but came up blank.

"Remy, I was under the impression that Rogue saw you fall and, thinking you dead and knowing that Warren had been hit by debris she…" Hank stopped to think. This had all seemed so plausible when Rogue had said it. But now… and why was Remy looking so tense.

"She tol' you she 'saw me fall'?"

"Yes…?"

"She carried me outta dat buildin', Henri. Only one way t' 'fall' from dat position, hein?"

"She dropped you?"

"Y'd think dat if she'd jus' wanted Remy dead she'd a' let him stay in dere, neh? She wanted him t' suffer fo' his past."

"Oh my…"

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"Charles?" The view screen clicked on, and Hank was reassured by the image of his long trusted friend and mentor.

"Ah, yes. Hank. You're here to update me on the condition of your guest…"

"Just briefly, yes. There's been no obvious sign of change in the condition of his eyes. The frostbite in his feet is healing nicely, the small affected areas on his face are already well healed. His hands are another matter. Both thumbs are back to normal although a little stiff. The smallest fingers are also all but healed. The other fingers are not responding to treatment and I'm currently battling with the onset of gangrene in his right index finger. If this does not improve quickly – say within the next three days – I will be forced to amputate to avoid the infection spreading further."

"And that's… essential?"

"To avoid the contamination of his blood, yes. A blood infection in his current condition would undoubtedly kill him, it's not worth taking the risk."

"Keep me informed."

"There was one other thing I wanted to discuss with you…" Hank trailed off, uncertain.

"Go on, my friend. I can do nothing if you cannot say what you need to."

"It is regarding Rogue…"

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Feeling soothed, but no happier about his own role in the judgement of a life that had taken place, Hank pondered what he had been told. It seemed that during his self-imposed isolation Rogue had taken off. Whether to soothe her guilty conscience or to hide from the truth he could only guess, but Charles had been stunned and horrified when Hank had conveyed Remy's side of the story to him. Something would have to be done, this had spiralled out of what could be considered fair play in a lover's tiff. This was closer to murder, and it wasn't helping that nothing in Rogue's explanation for why she had turned away from her lover added up. Something in that equation was missing, and Hank wanted to know what it was. It was unlikely, though, with Rogue missing and Remy being as vague as ever about his own point of view. Sometimes it seemed that boy didn't think any more of himself than what others saw in him. As though he didn't want to influence or improve their opinions of him.

He turned through the Iso-room doors to find Remy sat up and waiting for him. A grin quirked his features, and Hank found himself wary of what might come next. He wasn't ready for Remy's restlessness today.

"Henri, I had an idea…"

"Yes Remy?" He asked, a little weary, but trying not to show it to his patient.

"Y' said a long time 'go dat m' chargin' powers caused th' blood t' flow faster in m' hands, s' why dey get red an' hot 'f I use dem too much."

"That's right." Hank confirmed, not making the connection.

"So… if I used m' powers would it help?" The connection made, thoughts were suddenly racing ten to the dozen through Hank's mind.

"Possibly. I would have to monitor… and…" The thoughts were flowing to quickly to vocalise them all, making a checklist of all the things he would have to do to make sure it was safe. "Do you think you can charge with only your little finger and thumb? Because the other fingers aren't going to want to carry charge until they are at least a little more recovered. And can you charge while under a local anaesthetic? It's likely to be as painful as the debridement is, if not more so."

"Can' charge if I can' feel m' hands. Don' have 'nough control t' stop it runnin' away wit' me."

"How can you be sure you would have control through the pain that you wouldn't have under the anaesthetic?"

"If I can feel it, I can control it." He said firmly.

"If you are sure, I will need to hook you up to a few monitors. I want to know if something is going wrong." A brusque nod. Remy's ready - ready and desperate to get out of here. Gentle hands - furred and padded - worked on the bandages, freeing the fingers on the left hand first. A familiar shape was placed in his palm, followed by two electrodes, one on each temple. He closed his fist over the card and tried not to flinch as he realised that only his thumb and smallest finger had responded. The other three were still too damaged in nerve and tissue to move under his command. He shifted the card with his thumb until it lay in a position that he could throw from.

"Ready, mon ami?"

"Just make sure you throw forwards, I will stand to your left, there is machinery to your right." A brief nod even as the card began to glow a weak pink. There was stress written all over his face, his mouth drawn into a thin line as he transferred the charge, forcing the blood through to his fingertips, dragging sensation back. A soft whimper was the first sign of pain, though Hank knew it was a delayed one. A cry pre-empted a clumsy throw as the half-charged card turned itself into streamers in the middle of the room. Both hands were shaking as the left was shoved towards him gingerly.

"'twor'?" He paused to translate. Did it work?

"Yes, Remy. You did wonderfully. Rest now, we'll try again tomorrow." A hoarse laugh, and Remy was collapsing into the covers with relief.

"'morrow." He nodded.

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TBC

(please review)


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks hugely to Cruel Illusion for the fabulous beta!

Reviewer responses at the bottom

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Seven hours non-stop on the road and Logan's bike was beginning to sound a little hoarse. Making himself a mental reminder to give her an overhaul when he got back to the mansion, Wolverine pondered the brief and vague message he had received from the team while he was in Japan. All it had said was that Gambit was KIA, none of the whys or wherefores. He'd had a more verbose message when Scott's team had won the Super Bowl. And he wasn't even a sports fan.

He wondered why the thought upset him so much. Remy had been a fellow smoker, bike-tinkerer, pool-and-poker night man. A friend for a loner was a rare thing. It had hurt to know that they wouldn't share those things again but a self-healing heart, especially one so old, didn't usually ponder these things for so long. He was getting used to the pattern - happiness leads to pain leads to healing resulting in loneliness. Eventually he would find another companion, and until then he would be a loner again.

The mansion came into view again, and he fought the twinge of pain he felt at the sight. Still healing, he reminded himself. Just let it heal, don't pick at it, and it will go away. No scar.

Ha, yeah right. The heart was the only place he could scar, and he held on to that knowledge with all the strength he could muster. His heart still showed the worth of his life.

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The door from the patio into the kitchen was open, bright early-morning light streaming onto the breakfast table. A waft of fresh coffee drifted out to his sensitive nose and he turned to investigate who was up at this hour of the morning. Probably Fearless himself, at least then he'd get some answers.

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If there was one person he thought it near impossible to be there, it would have been the one sat in the seat closest to the door with his back to the sun. Remy LeBeau tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette, not turning to greet Logan as he stepped inside and dumped his dufflebag beside the door before pouring himself a coffee and taking a seat.

Logan watched as Remy sat back in his chair, pulling the dark sunglasses down his nose to rub at the bridge and pushing them back again in a single lazy gesture. He kept his eyes shut as he did so, and Logan wondered if it were to protect his light sensitive eyes from the early morning brightness that the kid rarely saw, or out of some long-ingrained need to hide his eyes from onlookers.

He was sporting a good inch of scrubby beard that didn't suit him, surely he could see that as well as anyone else could. He didn't feel like making conversation, though, so he didn't say anything. What ever the team thought had killed the Cajun obviously hadn't, and he was glad. A little weight over his heart lifted. There was nothing more to say. He relaxed into the comfortable silence that so often filled the space between them.

He looked curiously - he had never been one for tact - at the scars that decorated delicate fingers and the backs of slim hands as he stubbed out the cigarette on the make-shift ashtray. Scott would kill him if he found him using the china to collect the ash. That same hand closed around the side of the mug - not using the handle. He wondered if the scars were restricting the movement, and thought about what that would feel like. Perhaps that was why he hadn't shaved. A second hand came up to join the first, balancing the other side of the mug as he lifted it to his mouth, and this one was swathed in bandages. If the damage to one hand was already scarring over, the damage to the second must have been worse, or have had some kind of surgery.

His quiet contemplation - ignored by the object of his thoughts - was interrupted when Hank came charging into the kitchen, face like fury.

"Yer in trouble now, kid." He murmured, assuming correctly that he had escaped from the medi-lab, and was granted a smirk as Hank began ranting. The mug was placed carefully back on the table, and it didn't look like Remy was paying any more attention than Logan was to the medical info-blast coming from the large furry blue doctor.

"Hank." Logan spoke over the rant. His voice was level and calm, but it carried a power that would not be ignored. Hank stuttered to a stop as the kitchen's other inhabitant was acknowledged. "'m thinkin' the kid's taken enough grief from you the last few days, he got a right to a cigarette and a coffee."

"Logan, it's good to see you home safe as always. But please, leave my patient's care to me." He turned back to Remy, anger once again openly present in his voice. "How am I supposed to keep your presence from the rest of the household if you're sitting here just waiting for them to see you, Remy?" This just wasn't like the normally gentle and calm doctor. He looked close to physical violence, and Remy wasn't putting up any kind of fight.

"Hang on, wait a minute…" That rage was suddenly turned fully on him, and Logan snarled at the intrusion on his personal space. His peripheral vision caught sight of Remy's head dropping into his hands, his forehead creased. Pain… he was in pain. And they were angry. Both of them… Things clicked into place and he pushed past Hank and grabbed Remy by the back of the shirt, nearly dragging him across the ground before he got his feet under him and marched him out of the doors and across the grounds to the boathouse.

Remy flinched beneath his hand as he unsheathed a claw to take out the lock on the door, pushing him inside and not following. Remy paused in the open space he'd been shoved into, turning to search for Logan.

"Get yer shields together by the time I get back kid, you can't fuck with the doc. like that, whether you mean to or not." And he was gone, the door hanging open with the latch sliced in two. Remy wanted to call out, shout, rail, anything. Instead he was fighting to breathe as panic washed over him. He was too reliant on his night-vision, he realised, standing there and trying to convince himself the floor wasn't moving. He'd never had to deal with darkness before, not real darkness. And now he was in an unknown place with no one and nothing to cling to for support and reassurance.

Trying to suppress the feeling of panic that was tightening his throat and threatening to throw him into a full blown panic attack, he reached out with a few hesitant steps and found a wall under his hand. It stabilized him a little, though still he felt as though he was standing on a precipice and all around him the blackness opened up ready to swallow him. His stomach swirled and he flinched, swallowing back bile. He put his back to the wall and slid down it, making himself as small as he could manage.

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It didn't take Logan long to explain his theory to Hank, or for Hank to calm down once he was out the influence of Remy's indiscriminate empathic flailing. It was obvious that Remy's tenuous control over a power he barely understood was slipping, and the cracks were beginning to show despite Hank's best attempts to keep him protected. Logan dismissed Hank as soon as was polite, assuring him he would have the Cajun back in his grasp when he was ready.

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He found himself hurrying back towards the boathouse, knowing that what ever was going on with Remy, leaving him alone to fester in the emotions that were finding release through his powers was not the best idea. Something bad had happened to the kid, and he had no doubt it had something to do with his supposed death. The fact that Hank was hiding him away from the other X-men was a sure indicator. Half-listening to Hank's mind-boggling instructions, Logan had discovered nothing new about Remy's condition or how he had been hurt. He didn't even know why he hadn't announced his presence to the others. Did they still think he was dead? Or was he just keeping out of their way. Whatever the case, he was determined to find some answers, and there was only one place he knew he would get them. From the source.

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The door hung open as he approached the boathouse, and he wondered if he would get a reprimand from Scott for over-reacting. Shrugging it off - he could deal with Scott later - he stepped inside and wondered where Remy would have gone to collect his shields. He took another step inside and the stench of fear and panic hit him at about the same time as the emotional bombardment. He was on his knees with a strangled cry before he realized what had hit him.

"Remy." He managed to hiss through the overwhelming fear that was urging him just to curl up into a ball and give in to whatever might follow.

"'M' sorry, so sorry." Came a muttered reply from his right. The sudden urge to take-grasp-hold-comfort caught him, and he grasped hold of a hand that was outstretched towards him without even needing to look for it.

The fear plateaued, dropped, calmed…

"Shit, Remy. What the fuck was that?"

"Sorry." A breathless reply, silent tears streaking reddened cheeks.

"No, stop apologizing and tell me what the fuck's going on. First you're mind-fucking the doc, then you're having a panic attack in the boathouse… what is this shit?"

"Had a shitty couple a' weeks. Empat'y's not caught up yet." The voice was more collected this time, though Remy didn't look up from the ground, where his sunglasses-covered eyes were fixed.

"Slim thought yer were dead. Told me yer were dead. I seen the damage to yer hands, what happened?" There was a slight flinch in the recovering poker face. He pushed his hands out in front of him, balancing his elbows on his knees to display them, not looking himself.

"Pretty, hein?" He flexed the not bandaged hand, showing Logan just how much the movement was restricted. He could barely touch his fingertips to his thumb. Logan flinched. "Not gonna be cheatin' 't cards fo' a while a'least." He joked. The master of deflection. Pain? Not here…

"What happened?"

"Know dat t'ing - 'no one gets lef' behin''? Don' believe it."

"Where?"

"Antarctica." A hiss of air through teeth.

"Frostbite then. You were lucky to keep yer fingers."

"Henri is… reservin' judgment."

"So… why the panic attack just now?" He pushed a little further. A hoarse laugh, clipped short. He half expected no answer at all. The one he did get made no sense to him.

"T'ink Remy migh' be 'fraid a' th' dark."

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TBC 

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BJ2: Thanks very much.

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Moon Fox… Why do you even bother reading, if you don't enjoy the subject matter? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but if you have intent to flame, there's really not much point going past the introduction where I did point out that I was going to be going AU from cannon, and involving a Gambit/Wolverine Pairing. Now if you're reading this, you cannot have too many problems with the story, as you're still here, but I would appreciate no more flames? Accept that this is Fanfiction - and not in any way based on reality or cannon - and move on.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, thankies to Cruel Illusion for the beta.

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"So… Hank knows how to fix this, right?" Having pulled away the dark glasses, he was crouched in front of Remy, looking deep into familiar-looking devil-eyes with the disturbing sense that there was no one looking back out. Remy was trying to hide his own discomfort by meeting Logan's gaze. Unfortunately he was missing by a good three inches… above his head.

"He t'inks dey'll get better on deir own."

"Are ya seeing… like shadows or anythin'? Or is it…"

"Black. S'all black mon ami."

"'M sure Hank knows what he's talkin' about. Probably just need ta give it some time." Logan pressed the sunglasses back into Remy's hand, and watched him slide them back on uncomfortably - fighting with his uncooperative hands. He moved so that he was sat alongside him, back pressed up against the wall. The scents of fear and panic were slowly seeping out of the room, and they were both relaxing. "How the hell did ya manage ta escape Hank in this state?" He wondered, half to himself.

"He leaves me 'lone mos' of th' time. Pretty much got m' own treatmen' down pat. He jus' makes sure 'm eatin' righ' and t' change…" He waved the bandaged hand in the air. "this."

"Why ain't that hand healed up as well as the other?"

"Infection." Remy made a face. "Henri bin talkin' about skin grafts. T'ink it might not look so good beneat' all dis."

"And ya managed ta get yerself out of the lab and inta the kitchen with a coffee and a ciggie?"

Remy snorted. "Not Master T'ief fo' not'in', y'know."

"How?"

"Know th' mansion like th' back a' m' hand. 'Leas' what it used t' look like." He smirked. "Could walk it blindfold. So I did. Someone already made th' coffee, an' I had a packet stashed in th' kitchen."

"Why did coming out here spook ya so badly, if ya haven't minded bein' on ya own?"

"Don' know dis place. Wouldn' be able t' find m' way back t' th' mansion. Don' know if I'd even be able t' find th' door. Don' like t' be helpless, Logan. Makes me real…"

"Panicked?" A sigh of resignation.

"Yeah."

Logan shuffled a little closer, so that their arms were touching. "It's all right to be freaked out by this, Remy. This is a scary time, but you're gonna come out the other side stronger for it." Behind the glasses that made the world no darker than it had originally been, Remy blinked slowly, and tried to re-gather his muddled thoughts as an inkling of something not quite right reached him.

"'K, Logan. Y' need t' take m' back t' th' mansion now." He said cagily, suddenly worried.

"I'm not takin' ya back until I'm sure ya shields are back in place."

"I can' do dat wit' you dere. Need y' away from me."

"So I'll…" No, can't leave him alone again, don't leave him alone again! "Pull it together, Gambit. I felt that one."

"I need touch, and y're touchin' me. I need reassurance, and y're sayin' all a' th' t'ings I need t' hear. Could you turn it off?" Logan resisted the urge to stand up and step away the moment he knew he'd been manipulated into moving closer to the Cajun. He hated being manipulated, but Remy needed this.

"OK, kid. We have two options. I know ya don't wanna be left alone in here again, but either ya get those shields up with me here, or ya do it with me outside."

"I end up wit' a link t' you trapped in m' shields if I do it wit' y' here."

"Then I'll…" He was interrupted when Remy's attention jumped away from him and out of the building. He sniffed, searching for some sign of who was approaching. The decision had been taken out of their hands.

"Jeannie."

"Th' shields, she'll know I'm…"

"Do it…"

"But…"

"I trust ya." And a hand on his elbow was pulling him up and pushing him towards an empty room as he began building up shields.

The structure of his old shields was still in place, like a skeleton that needed fleshing out. For now all he could do was throw up paper shields that he could work on strengthening when he was in a less emotionally charged situation. He pushed Logan out as best as he was able before pasting over that hole, and hoped that would be enough to avoid the empathic connection such an action had always created in the past.

Slowing heavy breathing as he completed the thin shields, he slouched down in the chair Logan had pushed him into and hoped they would be enough to hide him from the telepath in the other room. Logan was busy making up some story about having heard something from in the boathouse, but it was quite obvious that Jean had only come over because she had sensed Logan and wanted to welcome him back home. She didn't care why he was out here. After promising to return to the house once he'd done one last check of the boathouse, Jean finally left, and Remy let out a sigh of relief.

"Yer pretty screwed now, kid. No way we're gonna get ya back in the house without 'least Jeannie seein' ya."

"Coulda bin worse. Leas' she ain't one a' th' ones dat was dere."

"Ya still ain't told me what happened back there."

"Ask Betsy, or Ange. Dey know all about it."

o

"Remy? Oh my God, you're alive!"

Remy was enveloped in a hug before he had a chance to step fully through the mansion's door, and Logan's hand on his back - that had been guiding him back from the boathouse - slipped away as Jean dragged him inside. He felt the panicked rush of adrenaline, and had to fight against the urge to pull away from the woman who was hanging around his shoulders. Remy tried to return the greeting, assure her he was alright, but he couldn't get anything out through the fear that was making just breathing difficult. He stumbled gracelessly as she pulled away, keeping one hand on his wrist as if to drag him somewhere. His heart hit his mouth as she released him, leaving him hanging in the middle of the room, lost and alone with people less than an arm's reach away. He didn't see the confused look that flashed across Jean's face, but he felt the flicker of concern that could only have been Logan's as a solid hand grasped his elbow and pulled him towards the door.

"Let's take ya back ta the doc., kid." He mumbled.

"Wait, Logan! The others…" Jean called out. Logan turned back to her, keeping hold of Remy this time, keeping him grounded.

"He don't owe any of yer anythin'." He growled, pointing accusingly at Jean. "By the sounds of it, y'all owe him one hell of an apology."

"Logan, what…" Scott's voice from the doorway stuttered to a stop as he took in the scene. The supposedly dead Gambit, clinging desperately to the supposedly missing Wolverine, who was gesturing angrily at his wife, who was looking quite upset. "What the hell is going on here?"

o

With Remy delivered back into the Beast's care, Logan marched back up the stairs and took a seat in the kitchen where Scott and Jean were waiting for him.

"Tell me what you know."

"Remy was involved in an attempted genocide, and his deception was revealed to some of the X-men. Rogue tried to kill him, and lied to the others about what had happened." Scott's tone was neutral. "When we found out the Professor sent her away from the mansion for her own good. But it seems that was unnecessary, and he's survived."

"Unnecessary? So, you sent her away because she tried to kill a team mate, but since she failed what she did was perfectly acceptable." The residual effects of Remy's emotional bombardment were making Logan edgy, pushing him to anger.

"You didn't hear what he did. I can't help wonder if he didn't…" Scott hesitated, his attention drawn to the figure that had just appeared in the door.

"Deserve it? I never thought I'd hear an X-man ever encourage the death of another. And definitely not from you, Scott Summers!" Ororo stood in the doorway, face full of rage. "What has come over this team? Warren and Betsy sit and talk about his death as though it was some kind of success!"

"We found out that someone we trusted was keeping something from us. Something unforgivable!" Scott answered levelly as the weather witch joined them in the kitchen. She walked to Logan's side, giving him a brief hug as he stood. He was spared the checking-over any other team member would have received, simply because his healing factor meant that none of his trials showed on his body. Instead she examined his eyes.

"He is gone, Logan. Forgive me for not protecting him well enough." Logan ignored that cryptic comment.

"He isn't, 'Ro. Gotta give him more credit than that."

"How could he survive that… And with his heart so terribly broken?"

"Go see Hank." Shock and surprise flickered across her face as his meaning became clear. Logan turned back to Scott as Ororo fled towards the stairwell.

"When did execution become the answer to betrayal?"

"She didn't tell them what she planned to do. Rogue took the decision out of their hands."

"She planned to kill him?"

"Oh yes." It was Jean that answered this time, her voice bitter. "She saved him from a potentially quick and relatively painless death, and left him to die of hypothermia in the snows of the Antarctic. It was quite cold and heartless."

"Just like the gal then?" He sneered. Jean snorted helplessly.

"You're unbelievable. Neither of you seem to be taking Remy's transgressions seriously. He massacred the Morlocks!"

Wolverine was no longer grinning, his eyes fixed on Scott, gaze serious. "Massacred is a serious accusation. He did this single-handedly?"

"No, but…"

"So he had others around him?"

"Yes, and…"

"'S not like the Cajun ta kill. Bet he didn't even kill anyone."

"Well no, but…"

"Bet he even managed to save one."

"Sarah…"

"And then Creed mauled him…"

"You knew about this! You knew we were harboring a guilty man, and you didn't say anything?"

"Creed told me first time he saw the kid fightin' fer our side. Tryin' ta turn us against him. But listen ta yerself, Slim. Ya just proved him innocent, who cares how he ended up there, the kid didn't lay a finger on anyone, and has been repenting ever since." His word spoken, Logan got up and went to find Gambit, leaving Scott gaping over the tirade.

"If I were you, Scott, I'd give them both a wide berth for a while." Sensitive ears caught Jean's comment as he left the room, and he was glad to have at least done something for the kid.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, big up to the beta, darling Cruel Illusions

o

o

Logan had been heading toward the medi-lab, expecting to find Remy there with Hank, where he had left him, but he caught a scent crossing his path when he got to the bottom of the stairs and allowed his nose to take over as his mind tried to process what it was that he was smelling. By the time he'd remembered that this was why he smoked cigars - so that the stench clung to him for days, wiping out everything else - he'd identified a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and the sharp tang that meant pain. Usually hyper enough without the caffeine, he didn't immediately associate the combined scent with Gambit, but by the time he reached the doors of the danger room the boy's own scent was beginning to override the others.

He stopped at the door, feeling the back of his neck tingle and the undeniable urge to just leave, go away, (don' wanna be here, don' wanna be here), taking over for a minute. He stifled the uncertain panic that was rising up in him, tapping his entry code into the keypad beside the door.

Inside, both of them facing away from him, Hank stood at Remy's shoulder. His huge form blocked Logan's line of sight, not letting him see what was going on, and Hank only glanced once over his shoulder before turning back to Remy.

"Keep your focus, it's only Logan." He reassured softly.

"I know." There was an infinite amount of strain in his voice, and Logan became aware of the soft pink glow of Remy's charge in the room.

"That's a better charge than you've had all this week, Remy. Not long and you'll be back to full power."

"I can hold it longer." Remy's voice was nearly breaking under the strain of forcing the words out as Logan stepped up alongside in time to see the pink glow pulse suddenly, pulling a soft cry from the Cajun.

"Drop it Remy, this isn't doing you any good." Hank's voice was level and calm, aware of just how dangerous it was to play with fire this way.

"I can…"

"It's enough for today."

"'nough?" There was an almost childish plea and Logan's hand rested on his shoulder, suddenly gripping tightly. A crackle of charge ran between the two of them as the energy refused by his hands found another route.

"Yes, Remy. Throw it, please."

A heartfelt battle-cry announced the launching of the pink missile, which exploded not far out of Remy's hands. Both hands on his shoulders pulled him back as he released, giving him enough distance to protect him from the blast, but all three of them were knocked backward off their feet.

Remy whimpered softly as Hank lifted his hand from his side, leaving the rest of him splayed out on the ground as he had fallen. Logan stood and brushed himself off, moving over to the far wall to make sure that the damage was cosmetic, as it should be. After all, the room was made to contain power unleashed like that.

He wandered over to the two still sitting on the ground, Remy being supported by Hank's big hand on the middle of his back. He looked exhausted, and the numbed buzz in the back of Logan's mind seemed to confirm that. He didn't even have enough energy to feel.

"What are ya doin' to him, Doc.?" He demanded, looking over the semi-conscious form.

"I'm trying to save him the use of his right hand, Logan." He felt a sliver of fear roll over his consciousness and knew it wasn't his own. Hank hadn't ever put it like that before, he realized, and Remy hadn't stopped to think about the consequences if this failed.

"Can you stand?"

It took Remy a moment to realise that the question was aimed at him.

"Sure." He muttered, rolling onto his knees before pushing himself upward, not fighting Hank's hand on his elbow. He was fighting the pain down with an iron will, and a cheerful mask slipped into place, though a little more tight-lipped than usual. Logan had once mistaken this mask for arrogance before he had come to know the young man and had realised that it was a standard holding pattern for: 'I don't want you to know I'm hurting.'

He focused on Remy's right hand - still outstretched as though holding it away from his body could lessen the pain of it. The thumb, though scarred as his left one, seemed healthy enough, but beside it the next three fingers were a mottled black-green-red of bruising, open wounds and the wrecked remains of what had once been beautiful hands. Logan felt the slow burn of rage build up inside him and couldn't decide whether or not he was disappointed or glad that Rogue wasn't in the mansion. They'd been friends. When had she turned into the kind of woman who did this to a man and then walked away?

"Don' blame her, homme. Dis not her fault." Damn that kid's brain. Hank interrupted before he could demand exactly how Remy could classify this as 'not her fault'.

"Let's get you back to the lab. One more scan, my friend, and I will happily release you to your room. Though I think perhaps informing the others of your return may be advisable now that Scott and Jean have discovered our deception."

"Did ya meet 'Ro on the way over here?" Logan asked, remembering that she had been on her way.

"No, we may have missed her. I'm assuming she was looking for Remy, and not seeking out assistance herself?"

"Yeah, she walked in on us talking about him."

"Then let us hurry, else she may fear that she has been misled."

o

The lab seemed empty when they returned, and though Logan could smell Ororo's scent in the air, he couldn't place her. Remy spoke first, and Logan felt a surge of compassion from the empath and an echo - as if far off - of desperate grief.

"Hey, Stormy." He gave a soft encouragement as though tempting a scared animal out into the open. A sniffle of suppressed tears and Logan had located the weather witch - hidden in the shadows behind the metal bed. Remy made as if to move toward her but hesitated as the movement meant he stepped out of the guiding hand Hank had kept on his elbow.

Logan stepped forward and took control, guiding him around to where Storm sat - squashed into the corner as though it would swallow her if she moved far enough back. A gentle hand on his shoulder encouraged Remy to kneel in front of her, and Logan took in the redness of Ororo's cheeks, her tightly closed eyes and the tattered brown coat she was clinging to like a lifeline.

"Hey, 'Ro." Bleary eyes looked up at him, and the heaviness of that grief increased. Was he feeling her emotions through Remy? The feeling was foreign and uncomfortable. "Told ya he was stronger than all that," he finished, bringing his other hand down to rest on Remy's bowed head. Ororo followed the movement and her breath caught her gaze came to rest on Remy.

"Remy?" If anything the grief increased, and Logan was left confused as Storm near threw herself into Remy's arms, tears streaming down her face.

"Forgive us, forgive us, forgive us, please Remy, please please forgive us." Remy freed his arms to wrap them around Storm's shoulders, tentative with his hands so tender.

"Hush, chere. Dere ain' not'in' fo' you t' ask forgiveness fo'. I'm th' one dat has t' ask fo' y' forgiveness."

"No, Remy. No." Ororo pulled back with her hands on his shoulders, staring into his eyes, though hesitating when he didn't meet hers. She looked up at Logan, who looked to Hank to give an explanation.

"Remy's eyes have been quite badly damaged by the UVB he was exposed to." Hank answered the unspoken question quietly. "It shouldn't take long for them to begin to heal."

Logan's eyes didn't leave Hank. Such a vague comment wasn't like him, he noted. There was an edge of uncertainty in his voice that he didn't like.

Ororo's hand moved to Remy's cheek, hesitating on auburn hair - so much longer than it should be - and sighed. "I've never seen you with a beard this long. I don't like it, don't do it again," she reprimanded.

"Not bin able t' get rid of it, Stormy, else I woulda done." He grinned softly.

"I will do it, as soon as we have had this talk on the matter of guilt." At Ororo's words, Remy's grin faded and his face shuttered closed.

"I am guilty. Bin proved guilty ten times over. Paid for it, too."

"You paid more than ya dues, kid. Rogue needs ta pay for what she did."

"Dis ain't her fault!" The anger was sudden and unexpected. Logan realised a little belatedly that it was a mirror of his own, and forcefully calmed himself.

"How'd ya figure? From what I've heard it was just you, her and the icefield."

"Dey made her absorb me - mem'ries and powers. I could feel their hatred for what I did, even wit' m' shields. She din' have any protection."

"So, she tried to kill you because the others wanted to?"

"An' maybe… maybe I wanted to myself." The confession was guilty, his voice low.

"What was it that you wanted, Remy?" Hank knew what he was saying, but he needed him to actually say it before he could do anything about it.

"Done not'in' but bad in dis world. Caused not'in' but hurt. If I could jus' pay th' blood-debt. Wouldn' have t' fight no more."


	6. Chapter 6

Once again:D Huge thankies to Cruel Illusions, who is doing a most fantastic job of putting this story in good order for me!

o

Logan met Hank's gaze as Ororo escorted Remy - his right hand bandaged up once again - up to his room for a shave. Hank held the gaze for a moment before sighing deeply and flopping into the nearest chair, which gave a groan under his weight as he buried his head in his hands.

"Why can life not give that man a break, if only for a moment." The question was rhetorical, so Logan made no reply as he took a seat next to the beast.

"What's up with his eyes?" He asked after a moment's silence.

"Did you not understand what I said?"

"No, I got it. But there's somethin' else. Somethin' yer hiding from him."

"Of course, I should know better than to hide things from you." Hank acknowledged wryly. "When he returned I assumed his eyesight to be the least of his troubles. Snowblindness typically heals of its own accord, much as when you turn a light on in the darkness you have a moment of glare and then your eyes adjust. The pain that Remy was experiencing when he arrived was normal - the eye tissues are often sensitive after such an injury, especially sensitive to light. When the pain began to fade his eyesight should have started to return."

"And it hasn't?"

"Nothing. His eyes are even less sensitive than usual to light - I have had the lighting at full strength since the bandages have been removed, and he has said nothing - his vision is completely impaired, and I fear… perhaps permanently." The frustration was clear in his voice.

"Why haven't ya told him?"

"I fear his reaction. The loss of his shields this morning only serves to demonstrate how tenuous his control is right now. And I still have no solid evidence that this isn't just an effect caused by his rather unique optical physiology. Even if they are not healing as expected, there is nothing I can do in the immediate future to treat them further. While they are causing him no pain other than the emotional, I will keep my thoughts to myself, and would ask you to do the same."

"Sure. But yer gonna have ta tell him sometime, if they don't start healin'."

"Of course, but let us save that conversation for a time when everything is a little more stable for our friend."

o

Clean shaven and relaxed, Remy knelt on the floor in his room gathering his shields about him. The effect was rather like wrapping his mind in cotton wool, putting layer over layer on the paper-thin temporary shields he had erected at the boathouse. Jean must have been pretty distracted, he realised, to not notice him. He'd asked Storm to give him a moment to get himself together so that he could face the others without fear of manipulating their responses. It was quite tempting to just leave himself wide open, with all his pain and guilt on the outside, and just see how people took the emotions; but, it wasn't right, and he knew it would hurt him more than it would touch them. He didn't want to be at the center of that right now.

There was a knock at the door and he looked up groggily, realising only belatedly that looking would do him no good. "'s open," he called out, trying to shake off the feeling of his head being muffled. Over time the brushes of other minds on those shields would compact them into a hard shell and then he would add another mental layer. He hadn't even known how he had been doing it as a child, and for over six years he had had shields strong enough to baffle one of the strongest psychics in the country. Hopefully knowing what he was doing now would allow these shields to build up much more quickly.

The door opened and light feet stepped over the threshold. "Are you ready, my brother?"

"Have t' be, neh? Not much choice," he said, getting to his feet without using his hands.

"Come. Let us get this over with."

Taking Remy's unbandaged hand and placing it in the crook of her elbow, Ororo led him back down the stairs and into the living room. Most of the inhabitants of the house were still in bed, so they arrived uninterrupted to find Logan and Hank already there and waiting for them.

Remy tried not to flinch outwardly as the careful work he had done covering the weakness in his shields that was Logan was torn away as soon as the other man was in reach. When he got some time alone he would strip them right down and start again; he couldn't keep the connection with the feral mutant, however reassuring it was. With a gesture Hank called them to sit beside him on the sofa, and they all sat in silence for a moment.

"So." Remy spoke up at last, needing to break the tension in the room while they waited for the axe to fall. "Anyt'in' interestin' happen while I was locked in M. Bête's lab?"

"I only got back this mornin'." Logan answered first.

"Nothing that you need worry yourself with, my friend."

"I didn't lock…"

"Gambit?" Hank's insulted retort was interrupted as four heads flicked towards the voice in the doorway. Only three followed as Warren marched into the room. Remy looked down, knowing that he couldn't meet his gaze accurately. Of all the X-men, why did he have to be the first one to get up? "What the…" The tone changed from bewilderment to anger in a moment. "What the fuck are you doing in this house? You don't belong here. You never did." Ignoring the others bristling around the Cajun who was slowly sinking into his chair, Warren advanced on him. It was Wolverine who stopped him, standing from his seat to grab hold of his arm and pull him back away from Remy.

"Give him some fucking space, Wings," he growled. "He belongs here as much as the rest of us." Warren slowly seemed to become aware of Logan.

"You don't know what he did." The winged man hissed.

"I do. Have known for a long time now." Remy started at this, and Logan could feel the surge of confusion that rose up in him. He turned his attention back to Remy, knowing he needed to hear this. "Creed told me, way back. Thought he could turn me against ya, kid, but I didn't care. Heard worse things, and ya tried to make it right when ya realised what was goin' on."

Angel snorted. "You can't make right that kind of slaughter. There's no way of paying back that kind of betrayal." It was enough of an echo of Remy's earlier words that all three flinched and looked to him.

"His own blood was spilled with that of the Morlocks." Ororo spoke up when it became obvious Remy would say nothing in his own defense. "The Marauders were no friends of his."

"Ha! Like I believe that. He can say what he likes, work his empathy with all of you. I'm not falling for it." Remy did flinch at these words. It was something he had always been afraid of, being accused of manipulation in the worst way.

"Warren. He still bears Creed's scars." It was Hank who spoke up this time, and Warren was a little more compelled to listen to the voice of his friend.

"Ppht. What scars? I've never seen them, and he makes sure we all see him bare-assed as often as he can, " he sneered.

Ororo looked at Remy in time to see a look of resignation come over his face. He slid down in the chair and looped a thumb in the waist of the sweat pants he was wearing - anything else being too fiddley to get on with his hands so incapacitated. He didn't have to push them down far to show the reason why he never wore hipsters. An ugly white line drew a curve around the base of his belly, from hip to hip.

Warren was silent for a moment, and Logan found himself staring at that mark, wondering how he'd never seen it before.

"Gets all dark when it's hot, can' see it so well." Remy offered in explanation, "'s why it don' show up in th' showers." An' dat's th' only time you've seen my ass, he added silently.

Warren seemed to shake himself out of his stupor, trying to regather the arguments he'd been putting together for weeks now.

"So what, we've all got our scars from that monster. Doesn't make what he did any less."

"What did he do, Warren? I wasn't there for this 'trial', tell me what he did," Jean said from the doorway, lips pursed.

"He assembled the marauders. He led them to the Morlocks. He was responsible."

"Sinister was holding something over him. Some debt to be repaid." Betsy stood now beside Jean in the doorway, her face absent as though lost in memory. "I can't… I can't see what it was."

"Control."

Betsy started at the sound of Remy's voice from inside the room, not having seen him past Hank's greater bulk.

"Over th' chargin' power. A mad scientist offers y' a way t' stop y' blowin' y'self t' hell, y' don' ask 'bout the cost. Y' already know it'll be too high."

"You should have just let yourself blow up," Warren sneered.

"I know." A whisper, so filled with guilt that any louder confession might have broken him.

"Hey guys, what's going on in here?" Bobby asked, trying to see past the two women in the doorway, everyone too frozen from Warren's attack and Remy's retreat to say anything. "Gambit! God, man, you look like shit." And that was that.

"Morning Bobby." Remy couldn't help but smile as Bobby wandered in with his coffee and dropped onto the couch.

"So… what's going on?"


	7. Chapter 7

As always, thanks to Cruel Illusion for beta.

o

o

Logan was vaguely aware of the moan even as it started, half his consciousness fixed on the room beside his even in sleep. His feet hit the floor at a run as it crescendoed into a hoarse scream. Two other doors were opening as he hit Remy's room at speed, ploughing through the door and letting it bounce off the wall.

The scream stopped suddenly as he entered the room, leaving his ears ringing slightly in the absence-of-noise that followed. Remy wasn't in the bed. He wasn't on the floor or in the bathroom or at the desk. Logan stopped, pushing the ringing aside to hear the harsh breathing that was on the edge of his senses. He scanned the room, letting his other senses join the search. His eyes alighted on the bed, found the source of the breathing there. But not in the bed - his eyes told him that much. He knelt on the carpeted floor, facing the bed. A glance up found Bobby and Hank stood in the doorway. He waved them away, sharing a glance with Hank that suggested he stay close. The door shut lightly behind them.

"Remy?"

"Th' curtains… please th' curtains." A soft plea, voice hoarse.

Shock ran through him as Logan realised that the curtains were indeed wide open, letting the early morning light stream in. He moved quickly to shut them before returning to his place at the side of the bed. This time he lay down on the floor so that he could see into the dusty space. It was impressive for a man of Remy's stature to have managed to get beneath the bed, let alone squeeze himself into the corner as he had. He sought out that red-on-black gaze, only to find it hidden beneath a bandaged palm.

"The curtains are closed, Remy. Are you… can you…?" The hand shifted tentatively. Red-on-black eyes met his, flickered away again, searching.

"I don'… Can' tell." Hesitant. Wanting to hope, but remembering the last time light had caused this much pain - that first night awake in Hank's lab. He straightened out so that he could slide out from under the bed, found heavy hands gripping his forearms to drag him out.

He sat back against the bed, gripping his forehead to try and force down the heavy throb that had begun.

"D'ya…"

"Hush." The quick hiss silenced Logan's question and he settled down beside him, shoulder to shoulder so that Remy knew he was still there. The room was bright enough despite the curtains that even without enhanced vision he would have been able to see. Logan focused on Remy's face, waiting for him to open his eyes again, waiting for the verdict. Alien eyes flickered open, squinting almost immediately and flinching against the small amount of light. He waited for his eyes to adjust. And waited.

"Well it's diff'ren', I suppose." He croaked, his voice betraying the pain he was feeling.

"What is?"

"Befo' I couldn' see shit. I still can', jus' now it's white, not black." He brought both hands up to press against his eyes.

"Maybe ya just need it ta be darker? We could go down ta the danger room and program a low-light sim.. Maybe stop by Hanks, get ya some painkillers?"

"Sorry, homme, y' mus' have work t' do… I can…"

"Got nothin'. Cyke won't have me in the danger room 'til this afternoon. Come on, get dressed, I'll take ya."

o

Hank listened to what Remy had to say with a serious face. When he had finished, he stood from his desk and pulled a folder off of a shelf.

"I'm calling a specialist, Remy. I don't have the expertise to cover this, and I have to admit to being out of my depth. I have an old friend who went into ophthalmology, he was astonishingly good at what he did back then, I can only imagine he has improved, he might be able to help."

"But…" A world of uncertainty in those eyes, the lights dimmed almost to nothing for his comfort.

"I'm going to be right there with you, Remy. I am not going to abandon you into another's care."

"You gonna bring him in here?" Logan's question - Remy still distant.

"I think it probably better if we go to his office, there may be tests that he can run there that might tell us more than he could find out here."

"What do I do 'til den?"

"Well, I agree that we must find out if it is simply the light that is hindering your vision now. But until we can find a solution to the issue I would suggest that we reapply the bandages to protect your eyes against the light. Since you are up and heading that way anyway, perhaps we should exercise your hands now also?"

"Sure." A sigh as Hank gathered what he needed and followed Remy and Logan out of the lab and towards the danger room.

o

They'd been all the way through the lighting options of the danger room, from pitch black - lighting in which only Remy would once have had an advantage in the infra-red that other bodies give off, but little else - through the very lowest amounts of light where Wolverine's eyes became the most impressive, and up into the more friendly lighting levels.

Nothing. Remy still had no vision to speak of, and now the light that was no use to him was causing him pain.

They'd barely reached emergency lighting levels when Remy called for them to stop. In a flash of inspiration, Hank asked Logan to change the wavelength - the colour - of the light. As they went up through the red intensity, Remy made no complaint about the brightness. Though it made everything a sickly red hue, at least he now had a way of lighting the room should he need to examine Remy's eyes in the future.

"Perhaps it was just like a mental shutdown - you couldn't handle the pain from the light and so it just disconnected your mind from it for a while." Hank suggested as they stood under the red lights and Logan watched from the control room.

"An' I'm handlin' it better now?" He asked the voice over his shoulder as he was handed a playing card. Taking the card between his left index and middle finger, Remy twisted it through his fingers slowly, hissing as he fumbled it and dropped it. Hank handed him another without comment.

"Perhaps it is beginning to retreat." Bending this one over his index finger between his thumb and middle finger he let it spring up into the air, catching it again without needing to see it. This one flowed through his fingers a little more comfortably, he held the twist around his little finger and brought it back to his index and thumb. Bringing it right into his finger tips he swore as he lost hold of it again.

"Y' sayin' an awful lotta 'per'aps', Henri." A sigh from behind him. He flexed his newly unwrapped right hand gently, feeling the skin pull taught and the joins ache as he waited for the next card.

"A fact that I am well aware of, Remy. But until I have more information, there is little else I can say." He threw this one straight up in the air and caught it gracefully, pulling it around into an arc and throwing it, full charge in place before it left his fingers. It exploded at a safe distance, and Remy rubbed at his left palm with his thumb. "Is it getting easier, or are you just getting better at hiding the pain?" Hank asked bluntly, handing over another card.

"Getting' real practised at chargin' up quick." Remy answered evasively.

"Hmm." Hank replied, watching as Remy went through simple card-play moves, dropping one every so often, but generally catching every throw, making every twist and turn through his fingers. He threw a few more charged cards, and a few weakly charged cards with his right.

"Gimme a half-pack?" He asked. Curious, Hank handed over the remainder of what was in his hand. Remy balanced the cards flat between the fingers on his right hand, grimacing as his hand began to shake at the pain of the stretched position. Rethinking, he used his thumb to balance the cards and used his left to spread them into a hand. A breath and he was in motion, cards flying in quick succession across the room. He paused, a card in his hand, uncharged.

"The Queen of Hearts." He said softly. Hank's hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"Remy…"

"Non." He answered the question before it was asked. "Y' tensed, I was waitin' fo' it." He laughed shortly, throwing the card uncharged and following with a second which hit it dead centre.

"Sometimes your skill impresses me. And sometimes I find myself wondering how much you keep hidden from us when you are pushed to use all that you have available to you."

"Hey Gumbo." Logan was in the doorway to the danger room, wearing a feral grin. "Ya remember this game?"

"Was jus' waitin' fo' y' t' 'member, ol' man."

"Ya remember the rules, then." He grinned ferally. "No pulling the charge. No moving from yer position. I won't make ya wear a blindfold, this time."

"Y' very kind." Remy smirked.

"Give us some room, Hank." Logan commanded, and Hank left with a nod, handing over the two packs of cards he had been carrying and heading to the control room. Logan handed over the cards, noting that even in one day some of the bruising on Remy's fingers had faded into yellows and greens.

"Dese pockets 're too deep." Remy grumbled as he tried to find places in his sweatpants to put the cards that he would be able to draw them from at will.

"Do ya still have a spare coat in yer locker?" Logan asked, watching as Remy dropped one of the packs, swearing as he stooped to gather them back up.

"Yeah, I t'ink so. Y' get it fo' me?"

"Sure, I'll be right back."

o

Resisting the urge to help Remy find all of the cards that were now scattered across the floor, Hank tried to busy himself on the readouts that were scattered across the screen in front of him. The computer had recognised Remy and was busy recording his vitals and the size of the charges he had created. He looked over the readings, noting that his right-handed charges were barely enough to cause a nasty shock, though his left appeared to be almost back at full charge. Hank tried to remember whether or not he was right handed and realised he didn't know. He opened the file while he was sat at the console, only partly aware of the beat that was slowly speeding up to a tremendous rate from the other side of the room. He looked up as it started to annoy him, realising only belatedly that it was a heart rate monitor and that Remy had frozen on his knees with his left hand balancing him, head bowed.

"Remy?" He called over the intercom. "Are you OK?"

The door slid open as Logan walked in. He took one look at the man on the floor before dropping the coat he was carrying and kneeling behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and sitting him up. His heartbeat leveled out, and Hank watched, curious. He couldn't hear what was being said, but there was something so gentle about the way Logan was handling Remy, and with Remy accepting the comforting embrace so easily… He could have mistaken them for two completely different people.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry, Cruel. I was too impatient, and these two chappies need to be close together, else this one doesn't make so much sense. This is Unbetaed everyone. All mistakes my own and only mine.

o

"'M sorry Wolvie. Din' mean t' do dat to y'." A soft whisper from within the depths of his arms.

"What did ya do?" Logan asked, curious.

"Din't mean t' drag y' over here. Make y' hold me. I'll close it off as soon as I got a minute."

"What if I said I wanted to be here, holdin' ya."

"I'm sorry, I can'…" A harsh shudder ran through his frame. "I can' stop this."

"Can ya not trust that fer once I'm doin' this fer myself? Trust me. Trust yerself"

"How can I trust anyt'in', anyone, when I know what kinda manipulation 'm capable of?"

"Ya think that's what this is? Manipulation? I can feel ya, Remy, feel yer wantin', but it's not controllin' me. Ya need a hug, I'm here givin' ya a hug 'cause yer my friend. Just because ya didn't ask out loud doesn't mean I'm gonna refuse." A buzzing warmth started, though neither would have been able to say which mind it started in. The other amplified it, and soon they were both basking in it. Quite suddenly, and unexpectedly to Logan's mind, Remy pulled away and stood. He seemed lost for a moment, but the cheerful grin was back in place before Logan had a chance to offer him some stability.

"D' y' find m' coat?" He asked.

"Yeah. I swear man, ya must bulk-buy those things, the number I've seen ya go through." The smile was softer as he handed the coat over, more real perhaps as he found a part of his old self to ground himself in. Logan picked up the cards that had been scattered back across the floor, and handed them over. Sure hands, with only the softest shake in them, shuffled them back into a neat deck and split them into more than five different pockets. Logan felt as though he was watching something private as he watched those cards disappear, Remy had kept the many secret pockets of his coat a mystery for as long as he had known him. Seeing him drop two cards into an invisible pocket along the back seam - he snorted.

"What?" Remy asked, not even trying to find him with his eyes anymore.

"Yer never gonna use cards outta that pocket."

"Th' back? Dis pocket got me out a' more spots dan y'd ever t'ink."

"Yeah?" This was like a magician revealing his tricks, Logan felt almost guilty.

"'K, so come take hold of m' wrists." There was a soft grin in place now, this was Remy in his element - cards in pockets he could only guess at, completely sure of himself. He put his hands behind his back and Logan grasped his wrists tentatively. "Y' not gonna hurt m', homme. Jus' take hold, like y' holdin' me back." He took a more solid hold and held him as he twisted, testing. "'K, so I wan' t' get out a' y' grasp, an' I don' care who gets hurt." He pulled forwards once, lunging back and nearly head-butting Logan in the nose. Only a well-timed swerve avoided that, and Logan twisted his hands and lifted his wrists as Remy pulled forwards again, so that his movement was limited. Pushing him down by his wrists until he was bent over forwards, Logan was hit on the nose by the edge of a playing card. "Boom." Remy mocked. Logan was suddenly quite glad they weren't playing serious games as he released Remy's wrists. He hadn't even seen him go for the card.

"Some of that blast would have hit you too." He observed.

"Y' were nice enou' t' get m' head out a' th' way. I would a' recovered lon' befo' you would, mon ami. Healing factor or not." Handing over the card, he watched as Remy slid it back into the back pocket deftly.

"So we gonna fight or what?"

"Jus' waitin' f' y' t' get int' position, mon ami." Grasping Remy's wrist and pulling him into the very middle of the danger room - the spot marked by the merging of the panels on the floor - Logan left him there and moved into the corner by the door.

"Yooi." It was an instruction to be ready to begin, and Logan fought to quench the step up in his heartbeat at the familiar word, falling into a ready stance. "Hajime." He began pacing a rough circle around the cajun, closing with every rotation. Remy stood silent and still in the middle, looking almost casual. Curious, Wolverine put a little more weight into his footsteps for a few strides and was forced to dodge charged cards, flinching a little as they exploded around him.

"What y' playin' at, hein?" Remy demanded.

"Just checkin' yer still awake." He replied, before moving quickly away from another scattering of cards. "Rude."

"Y' th' one talkin'." As the disturbance from the last few cards cleared, the room went silent. There was no sound of breathing, no footstep to be heard. Only the silence of the door assured him he was still in the company of a teammate. His mind was filled with the stillness that was Wolverine's mind when he was fight-ready. Knowing the games had truly started now, and he would get no more clues to Logan's position through sound or empathy, Remy stilled his own mind and reached for that sense he had kept so well hidden and controlled.

Closely linked to his charging powers, Remy had always been cautious of his ability to sense movement when no other senses were available to him. In a distracting environment he had been known to charge the closest thing to hand accidentally when faced with the confusing and often overwhelming buzz that was the kinetic world. Everything around you is in motion, from the tiniest vibrations of the atoms that make up everything you can see as well as the air in between to the huge concerted motions of human existence, every single little thing has kinetic energy. In Remy's mind these things were all laid out around him, and he fought through the fog of the buzzing air and humming machinery to find that one large piece of motion that would point out Wolverine…

Behind you… he whirled and tossed three cards, their passage white flame in his mind, wiping out all other movement until they were gone. He allowed a moment to readjust, spreading his arms wide and wishing he had his bo. Not that he would have been able to hold it in his abused hands, just because it would have felt right in his hands at that moment. A heavy movement to his right and a single card chased it. A single card didn't distort his 'sight' for so long, and soon he was following that evasive wraith again as he circled. A hesitation in that step and three cards followed, even as Wolverine leapt upwards and over the cards that were aimed at his waist - where they wouldn't hurt him too badly if they hit home - and landed with the backs of three claws against Remy's throat.

"Yer dead."

"No' too bad f' a blin' man, t'ough?" A wry grin. A hand grasped his and put it to a sticky fleshwound that was already healing. Remy grimaced.

"Ya hit me with the second volley." He didn't apologise for the injury, it was part of the training he knew, but still he didn't really like having his hand shoved in the evidence of what he'd just done to Logan.

"Go again?"

o

With his eyes screwed shut against the lighting of the sublevels of the mansion, Remy followed Logan's guiding hand back to Hank's lab. They'd finished what had become an impromptu training session to find that Hank had returned to his lab with projects calling for his attention. Finding the main room empty, Logan led Remy to a chair and let him sit.

"I'm going looking for Blue. You be OK here for a minute?"

"Oui." He nodded once, and listened to Logan walk out towards the door. There was a hesitation, and Remy wondered briefly if Logan was still at the door or whether he had misheard and he was already gone. Was he being watched? Tested? A shudder ran up his spine.

"I can tell ya hate me leavin' ya like this. I don't need ya to scream it into my head." The grumbling from the doorway made him jump, and he cursed his own vulnerability.

"Remy!" The second voice was completely unexpected, and the reflex action had a card in his hand and charged in a blink. His right hand, he realised as shooting pains drove up his arm. The card was dropped almost as quickly, and he pulled his feet up onto the chair to avoid the blast as it blew at his feet. He bit his lip to catch the verbalisation of that moment of agony, only as he felt in enough control, whispering:

"Merde."

"May I come over?" Hank's voice, uncertain.

"Oui." Still under his breath, not wanting to breathe too deeply, as though it would bring on a return of that pain.

"Wonderful. Let us bind that hand once more, it is not quite ready to rejoin its companion just yet. And while we're at it, a dressing for your eyes, perhaps? You will give yourself a migraine frowning like that."

"Merci."

"Breathe, Remy. It will do you no more harm." A rattle as Hank pulled out all the things he would need to put together the dressings from the storage cupboard. "I was on the phone to my colleague, I have made an appointment for us. We will see what he cannot do about those eyes."

o

A large crash drew Scott's attention into the small office and lab that Hank used, just separate from the med lab. Thinking his friend was in trouble he rushed in, only to witness a loud expletive and a piece of glassware thrown against the opposite wall.

"Hank? Logan said you and Remy were back… I was wondering how it went?" He asked blandly, ignoring the tinkle of settling glass shards. The object he had seen fly through the air hadn't been the first. The Beast turned to him, breathing deeply, eyes wide and teeth gritted.

"I should never have taken him to that… hypocritical… prejudiced… idiotic… ahh!" The last was accompanied by the pounding of his fists on the desk, nothing left to throw.

"What did he do?" Scott asked, wide-eyed at the doctor's uncharacteristic anger.

"Other than talking about Remy as if he wasn't there? As if the damage was his own fault, the product of some drunken prank? The first thing he did after he took the bandages off – roughly, I might add – was shine his pen light in Remy's eyes. I'm surprised the man didn't scream the place down. I could tell it took him some effort not to. I explained! I told him all about Remy's eyes in advance of our meeting so that he could be prepared. He can't even take the standard ambient light and his pupils don't react like ours do anyway. I don't know what he was thinking!

"He went on to suggest a treatment I had already tried that had failed, another which is purely symptomatic and some half-assed surgery idea which is going to be out of the question unless we can find out more about Remy's eyes. He didn't even offer to look into their true physiology which is why I went to him in the first place!" He sighed. "Imbecile."

"So after all that…"

"We learned nothing save that our young Cajun's tenacity is even more amazing than I imagined. Scott… I think it very possible that this is something for which I will not be able to find a cure. I don't know how I can possibly explain to the man that his blindness may be permanent, and this heightened sensitivity a by-product of the cause, which I can no better explain than I can treat. How do I tell him this after I have fought to keep him hopeful for so long."

"What are you going to do now?"

"After dissipating my anger here – to avoid any of that misplaced guilt our friend seems so prone to harbouring – I plan to visit him with painkillers and new bandages. The ones that he was given are much too loose and I was forced to watch him flinch every time the sun caught his face on the drive back. It is a glorious day, one that even Ororo would be proud of, but I think if she had known of her friend's pain she wouldn't have begrudged us a cloud or two."


	9. Chapter 9

Ororo sat on her heels outside Remy's door, her back to the wall. She had obviously just left the room and sunk down there in despair, not even looking up at Hank as he approached.

"Give him hope, Hank, please." She spoke up at last as Hank stopped at the door, her gaze still locked on the floor.

"I fear I have little hope left for him." He replied honestly. She looked up at him, storm-clouds in her eyes as she fought to hold back tears.

"Then give him something. Anything. Show him that he still has a life to live, teach him how to live like this."

"It is not so easy as that." He soothed, taking hold of her shoulder in one huge hand as she rose to stand beside him. Ororo took one deep stuttering breath, and another slightly calmer, reigning in her emotions.

"I know, and I'm sorry," she said, once she felt she had herself under control. "But I cannot stand to see him so… despairing."

"I will find some hope to give him." He promised, making a move towards the door. He paused before he released her shoulder. "Come in with me. I have some propositions that I may need your help instigating." With a nod, Ororo moved towards the door, slipping into the darkness created by the thick curtains. There was just about enough light to see by, and that little was created by what seeped around the edges of the heavy material draping the windows. Ororo walked towards the corner of the room, taking a seat beside Remy before Hank had even spotted him wedged into the corner at the end of his bed.

"'M sorry, Stormy. Din' mean t' shout." A gentle hand guided an auburn head to her shoulder as she hushed him.

"You're forgiven. You need to get these feelings out in the open else they will smother you. I am happy to take a little anger from time to time, if it means you are happier."

"Still rat'er no' shou' at y'."

"Hank would like to talk to you." Ororo mentioned, seeing Hank settle himself into Remy's chair. Remy's head shot up, and a creak of the chair allowed him to locate the doctor in the room.

"Sorry, Henri. Din' hear y' come in."

"No problem, my friend. I did not take a moment to think of quite how rude of me it was to enter unannounced." Remy's lips quirked at the convoluted comment. "I had hoped to talk with you regarding what is to come, though I am happy to return at a more opportune moment, if you would rather…"

"Non, now is fine, Henri. Y' doctor frien' din' give th' answer y' were lookin' for, neh?" The low grumble of a growl echoed through the room.

"Forgive me for taking you to that idiotic ignoramus. He offered nothing I was looking for, and caused you pain as he did it."

"Was seein' stars after he got dat torch out, an' dat's th' trut'." He laughed wryly.

"I have been thinking of the action we must now take. Despite all of the rubbish he spewed, one thing he said rang true. For now all we can truly do with confidence is protect your eyes and allow your body to do as it might."

"Y' t'ink dey ain' gonna heal."

"It is a distinct possibility." Ororo flinched, but Remy's poker face was in place and nothing was going to disturb it. "And we must consider what options we have to make things easier for you."

"Want a way t' get rid a' th' bandages." Remy said straight away. "Don' wan' t' have t' wear dem forever."

"Something I have already considered, my friend. I have an idea, one that I thought particularly stunning, though I have no idea how your eyes will take to the…"

"Hank, you have to explain the idea before you debate its suitability." Ororo reminded, a hint of laughter in her tone. This was positive movement for Remy, anything at this point was positive.

"Contact lenses." Hank stated with a flourish.

"'scuse me?"

"You've considered contact lenses to hide your eyes before, and you were hindered by the inability to cover your red pupil and still be able to see through the lenses." Hank hinted, leaving the implication hanging.

"Only, I don' have t' be able t' see t'rough dem any more." He grinned.

"Opaque lenses would protect your eyes from the light, and you would have the added bonus of appearing… how ever you felt like appearing."

"Y' got anot'er reason fo' dis, I know it…"

"Perhaps…"

"Hank?" Ororo pushed. Hank sighed, lifting his glasses from his face to rub them on the corner of his lab coat.

"Back when Charles started gathering us all together, when we were very young and no one really knew what being a mutant meant, we were quite different people. Jean was rescued from an asylum because she could hear voices, Bobby had been arrested for saving his girlfriend from assault. But perhaps most sad of a sad group of individuals was Scott Summers, a blind boy Charles had found on the streets." Hank paused for a moment, letting that knowledge sink in. It wasn't common knowledge that Scott had been forced to live without his sight before he had met Xavier. "At first we didn't understand why he was there with us, he isolated himself from us. He rarely left his room except with Charles, despite how often we would offer our friendship and support, our guidance around the house. He refused us. He had been in the house a good month or two before we got to see his mutant power in action, and until then I don't think we had understood his sacrifice. Charles worked long and hard with Scott, trying to find his control, or find some physical way of restraining that power. I know, because I often worked with him. I got to know Scott that way, and we became friends through my persistence alone. One time I came upon Charles reading a prospectus and, thinking nothing of it, I tried to read over his shoulder." Hank fell silent for a moment, sinking into his own memories. He had been so confused, young as he was, at Xavier's apparent intention to abandon Scott. "It was for a school for the blind, and the prospectus was well worn, frequently handled. He confessed that he had been to the school a few times to make sure it would be suitable for Scott, should it become obvious that he was going to have to live as he was for the long term. Though he had learned to read and write before his mutation manifested, both skills were useless to him as he was, and he needed skills to go out into the wide world with. It was soon after that he came up with the idea of using the ruby quartz lenses, but I know he sometimes looks through the prospectus, to remind himself that sometimes we must take what is available to us, when we can no longer strive for anything more." Hank finally fell silent, and waited for some reaction from his audience. Ororo was chewing at her lip, obviously troubled by this prospect but waiting for Remy's response.

"Henri, y' say wit' a hundred words what y' could say wit' three. Y' t'ink I should go t' dis school?"

"They can teach you the life skills there that we cannot. It would only be for a short time, you join the school as a border for a month and after that you would take weekly classes as a student. They would cover simple skills such as getting around safely, and more complex skills such as braille." A soft frown, and Remy lifted his heavily bandaged right hand.

"Not sure I'm gonna manage braille, Henri."

"Not yet, perhaps. We shall just have to work harder at getting your hands back in working order." Remy nodded once, firmly.

"Den le's go. Done wit' dis." Ororo's grin was blinding as she helped Remy out of the corner. "How long d' y' t'ink it'll take t' fix m' hands?" Remy asked as he dusted himself off and pulled the tatters of himself back together one more time.

"Two weeks, give or take a day or two, and I'd be happy for you to return to full use as long as you took it slowly. I think after that time I would expect some return of sensitivity to the tips."

"Sooner, th' better." And plans were made that day that would decide the fate of Remy LeBeau, as Logan stood outside his door, feeding him hope and courage along a fledgling link that seemed to grow stronger by the day.


	10. Chapter 10

Alisa Lebeau belongs to Nicole Wagner, but I'm not going to thank her for the borrow, she's been nothing but trouble:P My poor lil bro will never be the same again. ;-)

o

o

o

"Remy, ya expectin' company?" Logan almost shuddered as soft brown eyes came into view from behind auburn bangs. Remy pulled the headphones from his ears with his left hand, the right working at a finger strength exerciser.

"What? Non. Why?"

"'Cause… there's someone here I'm _sure_ is for you. She just broke through the outer defenses, only got detected because Jeannie was taking a stroll."

"She… broke?"

"Yeah, brown hair, just a teenager… wearing red."

"Alisa! Mon dieu! What's she…"

"Take it ya know her then?"

"Where is she?" He asked, already moving towards the door, tossing the exerciser onto the cabinet.

"Hold it, yer in no state to fight." Logan seized his arm as he went to walk through him.

"Fight? I don' wanna fight her. Slap her 'roun' th' head fo' comin' here, maybe, but no' fight. She's m' baby sister." A disgruntled pause.

"Oh."

"Wolvie… where is she?"

"Jean… she was going to take her to the holdin' cells. Scott was with her."

"Mon dieu." He said for the second time. "It'll be carnage."

o

They followed the sounds of a scuffle out into the front driveway of the mansion where the teen was writhing in Jean's telekinetic hold, three metres above the ground. Scott was pulling himself up off the floor, a hand to a split lip. A discarded Bo Staff lay not far away, and Logan wondered why he hadn't put two and two together faster.

"Alisa? What y' t'inkin', comin' down here?" The wriggling stopped immediately and - finding herself upside down in Jean's hold, Alisa met Remy's gaze guiltily, her hair hanging down towards the ground in disarray.

"Yah haven' called in _weeks_. Ah was gettin' worried."

"What did I tell y' t' do, if I stopped callin'?"

"T' stay away until yah re-establish contact." She replied as if by rote. "But what if yah were hurt?" She objected immediately. "What if yah needed mah help?" Gently Jean righted her and lowered her towards the ground, but didn't release her, still wary.

"It's t' protect y', Alisa. I don' wan' y' hurt." There was an uncomfortable moment as the X-men all flinched and Alisa wondered why Remy was still speaking into the sky. Jean finally released her and she approached Remy silently. She reached up to push his bangs to one side, feeling him flinch as she touched him.

"What did dey do t' yah, Remy?" She asked, looking into oddly alien brown eyes. Eyes that would have looked perfectly natural on any other face. "What did dey do t' your eyes?"

o

The lounge was quiet for a minute as they all settled into seats, restless silent questions filling the air. Just as it seemed everyone was about to talk at once, Ororo walked in and gasped delightedly.

"Alisa?" She exclaimed. Alisa jumped to her feet from where she had been sitting at Remy's knees - as though trying to protect him from unidentified foes.

"Yah must be Stormy!" She grinned. "Remy talks 'bout yah all th' tahm."

"And you, my dear. What has brought you so far from your home?"

"Remy missed a few week's calls. Ah was worried. Came jus' as soon as spring break started."

"Forgive me, if I had thought, I would have asked for your number and called for him, to tell you that he was alright."

"But is he? Hehn? Are y'all raight brot'er?" She turned back to where Remy sat in the deep armchair.

"'m working up to it, Sweet. Not long now."

"But _what_ did dey do t' your eyes."

"Dey're jus' contacts. Dey don' look so bad when y' get used t' dem."

"How would you know!" An angry half-growl. "'m not dumb, broder. I can tell y' can' see. Jus' tell me what happened."

"Was in Antarctica, th' light from th' sun burned dem." All the anger faded away.

"Will dey… get better?"

"Probably not, Sweet." A sad gasp, and Alisa moved to wrap her arms around Remy's waist, her head buried in his chest.

"What're y' gonna do?"

"Not much I can do. Learnin' t' do wit'out. Gotta go back t' school fo' a while." He made a face and Alisa laughed at his obvious disgust.

"Do dey make schools fo' people old as y' are?"

"Hey!" He swotted at the teen. "'m twen'y t'ree, not eighty. Geez."

"So what now?"

"I am going to find you somewhere to sleep tonight, and then we shall give you the grand tour of our home." Ororo announced. "Starting, I think, with the lab where Remy is late for an appointment."

o

Alisa gaped at Hank, and Hank returned her curious gaze.

"You know Remy, it's very rare to have siblings with such a similar physiological manifestation of their mutation." Hank spoke without looking away from the young teen stood before him. Remy smiled wryly.

"Don' I know it."

"I would advise you refrain from visiting snow-covered regions, my dear. It would not be beneficial to your health." Alisa shut her mouth.

"Are yah a doctor?"

"Yes indeed, I am the primary physician of this school, and take full responsibility for the X-men's health."

"And dere's not'in' yah can do fuh Remy?"

"I'm afraid not. I have failed in that department, and quite drastically."

"Nah, Henri. Y' did what y' could. Jus' ain' any more t' be done." Remy soothed quickly.

"Still, I need to carry out our arranged check-up before I let you start properly exercising those hands, so on the bed, if you don't mind."

"'Ro, y' wanna take Alisa on dat tour now?"

"Of course, we will be back shortly." With a nod to Hank, Ororo guided the teenager out of the lab.

o

Making her way slowly towards the danger room, so that Alisa could absorb her surroundings, Ororo watched Remy's sister examine every part of her surroundings with thief's eyes. Only a thief would think to look up while walking down a corridor, and she was sure that the girl picked out every single security camera.

"How long ago did Remy get hurt?" She asked, turning her attention back to her guide.

"About two months. It was two weeks before we found him and were able to get him back here safely."

"Why's it take so long t' get his hands over de frostbite?" Ororo cast her a glance. _Observant_ girl.

"It was so severe that if he hadn't been able to use his powers to fight it off he would have lost fingers." A flinch.

"He woulda hated dat."

"I have no doubt." Slowly, despite all the evidence against it, Ororo was realising just how lucky Remy had been.

o

"So, the doc's let ya off the hook then?" Remy yelped and dropped the staff as the unexpected distraction twisted it in his hands and put pressure on all the wrong places. "Sorry." Logan grimaced as Remy flexed his palm gently.

"'S no' y' fault, mon ami. Jus' dese hands." Logan caught hold of those hands and pulled them towards him so that he could have a look. The bad colouring had all but faded now, only a few yellowing bruises to show where it had been. The scars were long pink strips of skin coiling around his fingers, only half a shade lighter than his skin but smoother, newer. He ran his fingers lightly across those marks, curious as they paled at his touch. His head snapped up when he realised what he was doing, looking to Remy and searching for some offense. There was nothing but peaceful curiosity in that face, and he stepped away.

There was a swish of the door and then nothing, silence. With a soft grin, Remy knelt to find his staff on the ground and returned to his gentle practice. It was later, when Remy was tired and his hands were sore, that he turned to the not-quite-unoccupied corner of the room.

"You enjoyin' th' show, mon ami?" He asked the not-quite-empty room.

"Yer kid sister is impressive, I've never seen anyone take down Cyke like that."

"I taught her, she should be."

"Bet she could show you up if she tried."

"Oh come on! I was M. Bete's lab rat until a few days ago." Remy growled. The slightest sound of fabric against metal. He quieted his mind and allowed himself to follow the movement, feeling the man stalk towards him like prey. He followed the silent movement right up to his side, judging Logan's height and looking towards him. There was a rough snort of humour and Remy adjusted downwards several inches.

"If yer gonna do that, ya _really_ gotta remember how tall I am."

"Ain' my fault y' so short." He retorted, looking away.

"Hey." A touch on his chin brought his gaze back. "I don't know why you bother. I don't care if ya meet my eyes. But it's still good ta see ya face when we're talkin'."

"Logan, my office." Scott's voice echoed over the PA system for a moment before leaving them in silence once more.

"I _loved_ the show." And he was gone.

o

The danger room was empty and silent as the door slid open, allowing in two forms, one standing 6'2", the other only 5'3". Save this difference, the two were very similar. Their hair was the same shade of auburn brown, their eyes - though one pair were concealed - were naturally the same red-on-black curiosities, they shared a devilish grin, and at their sides both carried a long staff. They entered, spacing themselves out in the room and began warming up and stretching. After an extensive warm up that was near enough a work out in itself, they turned to the staffs that they had left against one wall.

Remy took the time to get used to the wooden training staff – heavier than the adamantium retractable one he used in real fights. It reached six foot and four inches, just a little longer than the standard length to account for his height. Alisa's staff was shorter and lightly tapered at each end to fit her own personal style.

Remy span the staff lightly in his hands, feeling his fingers complain softly at the unexpected and strenuous use. When he had stretched in all directions he began a warm up, spinning the staff heavily around his shoulders and waist, slowly speeding up as he got used to the weight in his hands. A tightness across his shoulders eased after a few circuits and he stepped up the pace, still nowhere near his usual speed, but not wanting to rush things. His hands began throbbing heavily and he brought himself to a stop, letting the staff finish its rotation and extend behind him in his right hand. He grinned to himself as he realised he was waiting for the soft 'swish' of his coat following the momentum to a rest around the staff. He was such an exhibitionist sometimes. Ok, all the time.

Alisa had kept up with him up until the point at which he'd stopped and continued on to higher speeds, only now finishing with a wide sweep that caused the whole staff to thrum through the air. He grinned wider. She had been practising without him.

"Kata?" He asked, giving her the opportunity to choose the next form of the exercise.

"Are yah sure yer up fo' dis? Th' doctor only said y' were alright a couple a' days ago." She asked, uncertain.

"We take it slow, neh?"

"Ok den, Urashi." He grinned, she had chosen one of the less strenuous Katas. But still, perhaps it was better for him right now. Shishi No Kun, his favourite, was 130 techniques long and possibly a little too much for him right now. Nodding his approval he took up the starting stance.

"Your show, cherie." He was offering her control of the Kata, something he had normally taken responsibility for as the more experienced of the two. With a brilliant smile that Remy missed, Alisa fell into stance and with a word Remy followed. "Hajime." He bowed, and called the name of the kata in respect before taking a deep breath. He'd missed this. The pause before movement. The peace before the storm.

In the movements that followed there was little thought, only the memory of a dance practised so many times that no one movement could be picked out of the flow. The pauses - as important as the movements themselves - were held for merely a breath before the next movement followed. He fell into the last movement and there was silence as he waited for the call to finish. And waited. He knew Alisa had finished, there was no sound of movement beside him. He grinned, he had regularly done this to his sister himself in practice, long long ago. Forcing a long pause, often in an unbalanced position if the step had been taken hurriedly. She was getting her revenge. Luckily he was long past taking hurried steps in this kind of exercise, and relaxed into the comfortable stance.

"Yame." She said at last, unable to hold a giggle. He took a deep breath, pulling himself upright into ready stance, and then launched himself at his giggling sister, dropping and rolling just short to come upright face to face with her.

"Devil chile."

"Diable Blanc." Terms that had once been insults held no sting between the two of them, and with a grin Remy pulled Alisa into a hug.

"'S good t' see y', Sweet. Even if y' did put y'self in danger comin'." Remy didn't miss the slight flinch that ran through Alisa as he pulled her in tight. "Now y' gonna tell me where y' hurt, an' right now."

"What d' yah mean…"

"Don' play dumb wit' me girl. I din' call y' on it in fron' of th' ot'ers 'cause I knew y' wouldn' wanna look weak." He lied. "But y' gonna tell me now."

"Got clipped by de guy wit' de…" She waved her hand over her eyes to show a visor, realising belatedly that Remy couldn't see it. "De eye t'ings."

"Cyke? Dat bastard. He shoulda known better."

"It's alraight…"

"Non, it ain'. Y' goin' t' see th' doc.. Can y' find y' way back t' Henri alright? I need t' warm down else I won' be able t' move t'morrow."

"Sure, 's jus' a scratch, Ah'll be raight back out. Ah'll wait fo' yah upstairs when y' done."


	11. Chapter 11

"Ah'm home!" Rogue's voice echoed brightly through the quiet house. There was a moment's silence before Ororo stepped out of the kitchen, hands still covered in soap-bubbles from the washing up she had been doing, her face grim.

"You are not welcome here, Rogue. You have no idea what pain you've caused." Rogue's smile drooped.

"Everyone was agreeing with mah decision last time Ah was here."

"The decision to leave my brother behind on that ice?" Storm nearly spat.

"I thought he was already dead!" She stormed, facing down the weather witch.

"Was that while you were carrying him through the air, or after you dropped him."

"I… I never carried him anywhere…" A look of confusion set in on Rogue's face, and Storn began feeling the first stirrings of doubt. "He was thrown from the building in that blast. He was just lying there in the snow…" Pity rose up in Storm like a flower blooming, and she was suddenly angry at Remy. lies? deceit? Had he been lying to them all? DECEIT A whisper of hate. Just enough to spark the flame.

"He's been manipulating us! It's that empathy of his… manipulating…" Lost in her own thoughts, emotions conflicting and confused, Ororo wandered away.

o

o

Rogue stopped in the hallway on the way to Remy's room. There was someone in there… She had already come across Hank and Bobby, and they had been as easy to divert as Ororo had been. Warren she hadn't needed to say anything, he had all but welcomed her into the house with open arms. Scott and Jean had been together and that had made her task more difficult, but she had left Scott watching over his wife's unconscious form, Remy's blame firmly ingrained in his mind. She knocked softly on Remy's door, a soft smile fixed on her face. The room was dark inside when she pushed the door open but two red dots stared out at her.

"Remy, I was looking for you!" She called. The dots shifted and the light was switched on revealing a girl with a great resemblance to Remy. Rogue's mind went through all kinds of scenarios which most normal people would not have considered - they were the X-men after all, and very little was unexpected these days - before she remembered that Remy had a sister. She hadn't expected her to look quite so much like him though. "Yah Remy's sister, raight? Liza?"

"Alisa." Alisa corrected with a smile. She had no reason to mistrust this person who she had never met, holding out a hand to shake hers. Rogue looked at the hand blankly for a moment before taking it in a tentative grip.

"Ah'm Rogue."

"Ooooh, YOU'RE Rogue." Alisa exclaimed gleefully. "Mah broder has tol' me so much about y'. I was wonderin' why I din' meet y' aroun' th' house."

"Did no one…" Rogue stuttered to a stop, her tactics changing quite suddenly. "Ah had ta get away from everything, when I thought Remy had died… I thought I was gonna die mahself." She put on a miserable look and let pity seep into that young mind. "I saw him thrown from the wreckage and…"

"You're… lying." The words soft, hesitant. It had only taken a glance into her mind, though Alisa's powers were still new and unpractised, the memories she could access with a thought were lying right there on the surface. And one in particular was calling for attention, on the edge of Rogue's consciousness, unshielded. A man lying in the snow, hand outstretched towards her, pleading, begging, asking for redemption. "Oh, Remy."

"Brat." A low hiss in reply. The blow was unexpected - coming not from hand or fist but from the mind, throwing her thoughts into chaos, making her stumble backwards as she fought to force shields up over her own confusion. She found a wall at her back and using it as a physical support as she brought her mind back to order. She locked her eyes on Rogue.

"Those powers aren't yours. You shouldn't have them."

"I don't want them! It's his fault they're here." With a gesture she ripped the shields wide open and emptied every ounce of fear and insecurity she could find into that brave and innocent mind. She watched as Alisa crumpled to the ground whimpering, eyes glazed. "They sure are fun though." Her mind in turmoil, Alisa automatically lashed out at the threat, her telekinesis lifting Rogue and hurling her away.

"Yah little…" At her side again in a moment, a heavy fist threw Alisa physically against the wall and she slumped to the ground unconscious.

"That wasn't very nice, Rogue." She whirled at Betsy's voice at her back. "I always knew you were going to break one day." She sighed. Rogue stepped forwards with a feral grin that Logan would have envied.

"Remy dreamt about doing this to yah, once." Betsy frowned.

"Doing wh…" The purple haired mutant dropped to her knees, her head thrown back and her mouth open in a silent scream.

o

o

"Remy, Hank wants you in the Medilab." Jean's voice echoed over the intercom of the danger room, clicking off before he could reply. Worried about Alisa, Remy hurried towards the door of the danger room.

He stretched his hands slowly as he wandered out of the danger room, feeling the extra twinge in his right that reminded him that it was only just healed. Using carefully measured footsteps, he knew when he came level with Hank's door and reached out to find the doorframe under his hand. The first few times he'd done this he'd been so sure of his knowledge of the lower levels of the house that he hadn't bothered to reach for the doorframe first, just tried to walk through it. He quickly learned that one's pace is never exactly the same length as the time before, and a small difference could mean the world of pain and embarrassment. The pain he could happily live with if it meant he could avoid the other. For a proud soul there is no better teacher.

"Henri?" He asked as he walked inside. Silence answered him. "Doc? Alisa?" When there was still no reply he settled down in a chair to wait for the doctor, knowing he was probably caught up on the upper levels of the house.

Bored after a few long minutes, Remy went searching for the finger strength exerciser that Hank used to judge his progress. It consisted of two bars with thick springs between them that fit in the palm of your hand.

He grabbed a metal table with a tray on top of it quickly as he knocked into it, stopping it from rattling to the ground and righting it carefully. He had his own exerciser in his room, but he couldn't be bothered to go all the way upstairs to get it. There was also the knowledge that the mansion would be at its busiest at this time of day and he had been avoiding the others as best he could for the last few weeks.

He swore as his knees hit the mechanisms of a medical bed, a pace lost in his collision with the table, and turned to put his back to it, thinking through the layout of the lab and where the exerciser had been last time he was here. He'd been playing with it while he sat on the bed and Hank took his blood pressure… He sat down on the bed to jog his memory. Hank had taken it off of him and there had been a metallic noise as he put it down… Sliding back off the bed, Remy reached out for the tray he had knocked earlier. He put his hand on the top carefully, aware that there might be sharp things on it and tried to identify what was under his hand. Stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, tape, scissors… ah… yes. He grinned as his hand settled on the small device, lifting it off of the table and making his way back into the office and the plastic chair where he had been waiting earlier.

The door to the lift slid open even as he settled into the chair, and he tossed the exerciser on the desk in mock-disgust. Just when he was getting comfy…

He listened for Hank's feet making their way from the lift, even though he knew he'd never be able to hear those silent and padded steps. The medilab was the nearest door to the lift and to the entrance of the corridor to the hanger, to allow the fastest possible treatment for injured cases. He didn't have to wait long before he could feel another person in the room with him. He did have to wait for some response to his presence. Getting impatient, and wondering how Hank had missed him, Remy stood.

"Henri? Jean said y'…"

"Not Hank, sugar. Just me." His eyes automatically snapped up to the position of that voice - a little higher than it should be, she was flying - and he tried to stutter out a reply.

"Rogue… cher. Y' bin gone a while."

"What did they do to yah eyes?" An absent question in response. Mixed emotions flowed through Remy, fighting for precedence. You did this to my eyes. You did this to me.

"Dey're jus' contacts cher. Still me un'erneat'." A gloved hand on his cheek and it took every inch of self-control he had not to flinch away from that touch. Where was Hank?

"What did you do to mah head, Remy?" The tackiness of Rogue's gloves registered suddenly, with that quiet question. The undercurrent of hatred hit Remy like a brick wall, making him stumble back into the chair. He pulled himself back upright, knowing that whatever was happening, he needed to face it on his feet.

"Din't do anyt'in' t' y' head, cher. Got m' shields up strong."

"You gave yourself to me willingly, without any force. You would have given your mind to me a hundred times over. Maybe that's why it stayed." There was desperation in that voice, strangled, panicky desperation.

"What stayed, Cher? Tell me what's wrong and maybe we can fix this."

"Fix it? No, there's no fixing this now. You did this to me, and you have to pay for it. That's all there is!" Rogue's emotions were getting more and more scattered as she fought to get her message across.

"Gently, gently. I don' know what I've done, Rogue. You can't punish me for something I don't know about."

"You LEFT me with it. Haunting me. In my mind."

"I don't…"

"The EMPATHY. It didn't go away! It never goes away…" There were tears in her eyes, and Remy's heart broke for her, remembering when his own power had turned against him.

"You can fight this, Rogue. You can take control. The shields…"

"Don't talk to me about shields. I don't want any pitiful barriers. I want you out of my head." And she was driving a spike into his mind, a vicious empathic spike between his eyes until his thoughts numbed.

She knew where to target, how to breach his shields, how to use dangerously manipulative powers against another. She knew what he had known all his life. His own potential. And she was living it.

Dark, deep, dreadful despair rose up in him, swallowing his heart and tightening his throat. His power – still open to the room so that he could keep track of Rogue – was thrown out of control as his mind was overloaded, and his surroundings exploded in bursts of pink light, flaming debris raining down on the two of them. Again and again until there was no more left in him to give and his mind closed in on its self.

And she drove it, pushing it higher, harder, faster. Until every moment of darkness he had ever felt, ever harboured, ever hidden, gripped at that mind, tearing it apart from the inside. Those shields were strong, so strong, and yet what cannot get in… cannot get out.

Perhaps there was a click. Something… it felt like there should have been some external acknowledgement of the damage that had just been done. Does a tree falling where no one can hear it…

Remy screamed, short and pained, falling to his knees on the cold floor as he gripped at his head and tried to keep the broken thing from exploding out. Awareness closed around him, narrowing down to one point in his mind where he held himself intact. He knew nothing of the grim smile and casual disgust that taunted him, as Rogue turned and left the room, locking the door behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

_Forgive the Britisms. Cruel has pointed out the more obvious ones, bless her, but I'm still hopeless._

o

o

Logan settled back onto the bike with a sigh, wondering if perhaps all this traveling was getting to him. He looked back at the gas station he'd just left, and wondered if he shouldn't spend the night. He felt exhausted, not a natural state for the Canadian, and the last few days' events had been a farce.

He'd been called out to New Jersey by someone who claimed they knew him from long ago and was curious why he didn't seem to have aged at all. Seeking questions to his mysterious past he had ridden out to the proposed meeting place without hesitation, only to find a man with a gun waiting for him. If he had been normal he wouldn't have survived the encounter. As it was he was forced to kill the man before he could get any answers from him, just to stop him doing too much damage to the surroundings and the tourists who had been curious as to the cause of all the noise. The healing had taken it out of him more thoroughly than usual, and now he was wondering if his decision to drive home straight away was the right one. The long ride north was not one he was eagerly anticipating.

His mind made up, he unbuckled his saddlebags and headed back towards the station and the attached motel. It wouldn't be five star, but at least he could get back on the road feeling a little refreshed.

Habit made him lock the door to the little motel room behind him and he wandered over to the bed and dumped his bags. He sat down on the bed, grimacing at the stiff springs as he glanced back at the door. Locked. He was back at the door before he realised he was feeling uncomfortable, his heart racing as he nearly ripped it open and took deep breaths of the petrol-tainted air.

"What the fuck…" He growled at the empty parking lot. What was that? Momentary claustrophobia? Stepping backwards into his room he went to close the door and found he couldn't bring himself to do it. Desperate panic raced through his mind, and he fought to separate it from his own consciousness, finally realising that it had to be Remy's emotions that were leaking into his mind. "What are ya doin' ta me, kid?" He asked himself, knowing that Remy had no way of picking up his thoughts, only his emotions. Leaving the door open he turned back inside and shrank down in the corner, knowing he was playing out his own reactions to the fear that was engulfing his mind and not caring.

Taking deep breaths and calming his own mind in an attempt to transfer that calm down the link, Logan tried to reason out what was going on. Remy often hid more extreme emotions behind a mask of calm - he was finding that out every day, with his mind linked to the Cajun's as it was. The sudden irrational panic could be a symptom of a simpler problem back home that Remy was reacting badly to, the claustrophobia could even have come from his own mind, fuelled by the unfamiliar panic.

A sudden hitched breath as something else hit him, previously masked by the fear and panic that he had soothed away. Pain. Tear-jerking, heart-wrenching pain. He fought to take a full breath as sobs tried to take control of his body, his hands clenching on his upper arms tight enough to bruise, his knuckles white. His claws slowly slid out of his knuckles, and he let the physical pain drain away a little of the mental. Silently, he prayed that Remy wouldn't think of trying something similar. He had no doubts now that the young man was in the right state of mind to try something stupid to relieve his pain.

What the hell was going on back there? Empathy was nothing like telepathy, the shields he had been taught to erect couldn't block this out, and he didn't want to have to drive while this party was going on in his head. He was lucky that he had been here and not driving when it had happened.

Lucky? Or had the tiredness he had been feeling all day been a part of this? He had passed out in the street as soon as the threat had been eliminated. It wasn't unusual for him to black out while he was healing extensive wounds, but he had awoken in such a state of confusion…

There was no time for this. Remy had been handling everything just fine, better than he would in the same situation, Logan was sure. There had to be some external factor. No time. Grabbing his saddlebags, Logan stormed back out to the bike and screeched hell for leather back out onto the road.

o

o

Logan hesitated in the doorway, a familiar scent catching him. Rogue was home. His emotions were immediately divided, as he wondered how he should take her back. He'd learned a lot about the southern gal in the last few weeks that he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know. And how would Remy take her return? He'd be well within his rights to demand that she left and never return after what she had done to him, but Logan knew he would never do that to her. He just wasn't strong enough to be so harsh, and he loved her too much to be angry with her, come hell or… the polar equivalent.

But the emotions he had felt… had they been in reaction to Rogue's return? Somehow panic and outright fear just didn't fit into his view of Remy and Rogue's convoluted relationship, but he'd never had the clearest view of it either. Perhaps he had missed something important. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.

When he stepped into the house he found everyone huddled in the rec. room, and took another moment to judge the situation. Remy was decidedly absent, but he had been keeping himself away from the others for weeks, it was no surprise that this was no different. Jean was sitting in the armchair with Scott on one side and Rogue on the other, looking white and shaken. Hank was pacing a tight line up and down the room, and Ororo looked to be trying to hide in the corner, standing straight and tall but with a decidedly absent look in her eyes. Bobby, Warren and Betsy were also missing from the gathering, but Logan knew that if Bobby wanted to stew over something like all the others were he did it whilst hidden away - anything else would spoil his ever-happy jokester status.

"What happened." He asked, finally stepping into the room. Rogue stood up as everyone else turned to look at Logan blankly.

"When Gambit saw me again he had some kinda breakdown." She told him with a wobbly bottom lip, looking quite pitiful. "He psi-blasted the whole house, poor Jean only just survived it!"

Anger rose up in Logan unbidden. He loved Jean, how could Gambit do that?

"We need tah get him outta the house. He doesn't belong here." Rogue turned to the others as she said this, as though rallying support. There was a general affirmative noise, and Logan nodded along. It had to be done. His hatred for Gambit grew. He didn't belong. Jealousy, hatred, spite… He didn't belong.

"I'll do it. I'll get rid of him for ya."

o

Filled with the deepest contempt for the man who only hours before he had held much respect for, Wolverine stormed towards the labs where he had been told Gambit was being held. His claws were already extended, and he could sense a beginning of bloodlust, stirred by the hatred that was filling his heart.

Shoving the door so hard that the lock broke, Logan shouldered into the Medilab and came face to face with the object of his hatred. Somehow the scene wasn't quite what he was expecting, and it was that moment of confusion and surprise that brought him back to his senses.

Instead of being tied down or sedated, Remy was knelt on the ground just inside the door to Hank's office, his head dropped to the ground in front of him as though he were praying. His fists were clasped to his forehead, white knuckled as though trying to hold something in and Logan could see that he was shaking.

The room felt strangely silent - empty - and it wasn't anything to do with the antiseptic smell and recycled air. Slowly Logan realised that it wasn't noise he was missing but the empathic presence that had been there in his mind for the last few weeks whenever he was near Remy. That reassuring presence.

He slumped to his knees beside the man, all fight gone out of him. A moment ago he had been out for Remy's blood, and now he was feeling lonely and empty without his presence in his mind. What was this?

He searched for that hatred, that contempt that had filled him only moments ago and found nothing. With a growl he whirled back towards the door. He was being manipulated, and he knew it wasn't Remy doing it.

The softest brush on his mind drew Logan back to the crumpled form on the floor, and he gently pulled Remy up and into his lap, his body limp and unresponsive. Chocolate brown eyes were fixed on the ceiling and blinking slowly. With this new view, Logan could see the open cuts and burns that littered Remy's skin, all left untreated and some still bleeding sluggishly. A quick glance around the lab showed the signs of Remy's power raging out of control. Shattered pots and glassware. A nearby metal tray mangled as one part of it tried to explode away from the others, scattering its contents. There was no way he could have touched everything, he had to have had his spatial sense wide open when whatever this was had hit.

At the call of his name, Remy's head tipped slowly towards Logan, and he whimpered softly, a frown falling into place. Logan sought the connection he was missing, and smiled as it slowly solidified in his mind. The smile faltered as the emotions being channeled into his mind solidified along with it.

Pain, guilt, sorrow. Guilt… Guilt… The thoughts darkened, like a heart gone black with loneliness. Pain. Sorrow. Guilt.

"What happened, Gambit?" A flare of hurt. Was it his or Remy's? How could he tell anymore? "What did you do?" He pressed, beginning to worry that Rogue had been telling the truth.

Indignation, heavy and hurt for a moment, then sorrow and guilt returned. Perhaps Rogue had absorbed him to stop whatever he was doing? The earlier manipulation could have been accidental. Rogue rarely did know how to control another person's power in that short time she possessed it.

Fear rose up, thick and cloying in his mind. Was it his own? Was it Remy's? What did it mean? Logan was very quickly remembering why he hated having other people in his head. With a heaviness borne of weighted limbs, Remy looked away from Logan and a deep emptiness opened up in his mind where the empath had been.

"Don't look away. Talk to me."

"He can't." He turned to look at Rogue in the doorway.

"Why not?" An angry demand for the truth. No more mind games. He needed words and facts.

"When he lost control… he did something to himself. We don't know…"

"Hank looked at him yet? He's all scraped up."

"Why should we, if you're going to kill him?" The hatred rose up in him again, in the space that Remy's pain had inhabited only moment before, but he knew it wasn't Remy's emotion, and it certainly wasn't his. Very slowly – like a hand reaching into his mind and pushing the other emotion out, Remy re-emerged and Rogue's interference was thrown from his mind. Rogue staggered back for a minute, the action had obviously been rougher on her end.

"Yah little…" Rogue took a step closer to Remy, face filled with anger.

"Get out." It was a soft growl, but Rogue looked up at Wolverine as though he had hit her.

"What do yah…"

"I said get out. Get out of my head, get out of this room, and get the fuck out of this mansion."

"Now see here."

SKINT

"Get out…" He wasn't even shouting yet. "Of my sight. Or else." With Logan you knew that wasn't an idle threat. Rogue ran.

o

"Remy? Gambit, d'ya hear me?" It hadn't taken much to move the limp Cajun onto one of the medical beds – one that had only lost a pillow in the explosions, one of the others had lost a supporting bar and would be out of use for a while. Now he was searching desperately for some response. He wasn't even responding to his voice now, and once Rogue had left he had found his mind strangely empty once more. "God damnit, talk to me, fuck with my head, I don't care. Just…" Logan looked up as Hank stepped into the room cautiously. "About time. Where the hell have ya been, Blue?"

"I was… what is going on? I thought you were going to get rid of this foul heathen before he did any further damage."

"He didn't damage anythin' but himself, Hank. It's Rogue who's screwin' ya all over. She's got Remy's empathy and she's using it on everyone. Makin' ya think what she wants ya to."

"But…"

"But nothin'. You've never approved of killin', Hank, even when someone deserves it. What's so different now?" Hank looked away for a moment, thinking this over. Logan almost felt guilty as the doctor sank into a chair numbly.

"I… my god… Rogue has…"

"Every single damn one of ya."

"I would have happily murdered him with my own hands…"

"I think she screwed Remy over too." For the first time Hank looked past Logan at Remy.

"Goodness. Let me get my bag."


	13. Chapter 13

With everyone finally back on the same page, and in varying stages of anger and disgust at Rogue, Logan made his way back towards the Medilab. He ran into Warren coming out of the lift, his face like fury.

"Where ya goin' Wings?"

"I'm going to track down that bitch and beat her into a bloody pulp." Warren ground out, not even sparing Logan a glance as he pushed past.

"I woulda thought ya'd be happy ta see Remy hurt more. What's changed your tune?"

"Remy? This has got nothing to do with him. Nothing." Warren whirled back on Logan. "Betsy's catatonic. There's nothing Hank can do. She'll either come out of it on her own or she won't. She's worse off because she tried to fight it. Jean trusted Rogue, she didn't fight at all. She's bad enough off, earned herself a month of migraines."

"Ya can't go after her alone. You'll only get yerself hurt."

"Try saying that when it's your lover drooling on the bed, perhaps permanently brain damaged!" The response that jumped into Logan's mouth was not the one he expected, nor one he had ever thought of. It just seemed… right.

"What if it is?" Luckily, Angel was already long out of earshot. Shaking his head to clear his mind of confusing thoughts, Logan continued on to Hank's lab. Ororo was there, holding Remy's hand with a face like an avenging angel. It had taken some effort to stop her going after Rogue as Warren had done, and it was only on the reminder that Remy would need her close that she had agreed and disappeared downstairs to sit with him. Bobby was busy trying to return Hank's lab to some sort of order, digging out undamaged items from the pieces of damaged equipment and putting them aside for cleaning.

o

"How's he doin', Blue?" Logan asked as he stepped inside. Hank sighed, looking away from the monitor he was attaching Betsy to. He glanced over at the nearby bed that held the Cajun, monitors already decorating his body, weaving around the bandages that covered the explosive damage.

"He continues to be unresponsive to external stimuli. Betsy is much the same. It was the similarity of their symptoms that convinced Warren that this was Rogue's doing, not Remy's." He finished with the lead and switched on the monitor. "Come, if we are to discuss this let us take it outside. I have no way of gauging how conscious they are." They headed for the door quietly, Ororo and Bobby following them out.

o

"What happened to his eyes?" Logan asked first. Hank looked at Logan, confused before glancing back over at Remy.

"Oh, I was forced to replace the bandages when I removed the contacts." Hank said, realising what Logan meant. "He wasn't blinking, and it would be dangerous to allow his eyes to dry out with contacts in them. He didn't respond to the light when the contacts were removed, but I would be loath to cause him pain if he simply cannot react to it."

"Why is his skin so cold?" Ororo asked quietly.

"He expended a lot of energy when he lost control of his kinetic powers. I have him on a glucose IV, his temperature will increase when his body has a chance to burn the sugars."

"Is he… gonna be alright?" Hank thought seriously about his answer before replying.

"Right now I cannot honestly say. I have never studied empathic damage to a mind, and it is not the kind of damage that can be seen on a scan or fixed with surgery. We must trust their own minds to work their way through this. When Jean is suitably recovered she has offered her skills in trying to fix what damage has been done, but she will not be able to do that for some time. She was lucky in many ways that she trusted Rogue, else she would most likely be here with them."

"You think they might be like this forever?" Bobby asked.

"It's a possibility we must address."

"I…" The realisation came across Logan like a wave, interrupting whatever he might have been about to say. "Where's Alisa? She would have fought Rogue too… and she's a psi. We need to find her!"

o

Logan's sudden panic spurred everyone into action, Hank and Ororo heading for the danger room where she had been last, and Bobby and Logan heading upstairs to the rooms where she might have gone. Logan hesitated on the stairs up into the residential part of the mansion, ignoring Bobby running past him. Her scent here was old, faded.

"She's not up there. She's still downstairs." He told Bobby as the young mutant looked back to find out why he had stopped.

"Let's go look with the others then." Even as he reached the bottom of the stairs Logan was drawn off to one side, a fresher scent catching his nose. "Logan?" Bobby asked, before following him.

"Hush." Bobby hushed, following Logan across the hall. He hunkered down at the door to the space under the stairs and slowly slid the door open. There was a sorrowful noise from inside that dark space that even Bobby heard. He knelt at Logan's side, trying to make himself look less threatening.

"Heya, Sweet." Logan greeted softly, using Remy's affectionate name for the girl without thinking. "You alright in there?" Two red dots appeared in the dark and blinked. "Rogue's gone now, it's safe for you to come out."

o

"She's alright." Logan told Hank as he looked up curious at his arrival. "Bobby's sitting with her, she's afraid of being alone. I think Rogue did somethin' ta her other than push her around. She's not… like Betsy and Remy are, but she's not right either." Hank looked up at this curiously.

"What do you think she did?"

"I don't know, but she's real skittish and afraid of everything. She's not talking either."

"How did this happen? Rogue's power should not allow her to do this, and Remy shows no sign of Rogue's touch. His current condition is purely a reaction to the empathic attack."

"He had hope a few days ago. Real hope. What… what did she do to him?" Ororo sat in the corner of Hank's office, clinging to a mug of tea and trying to pull herself back together after this latest fall.

"She gave him her darkness. All the shit in her head that she didn't want." Logan answered quietly, thinking of the emotions that he had felt filling Remy's mind.

"You mean… empathically?"

"She knew his weaknesses. Like he knew them himself. She knew exactly how to use that power of his for maximum damage. Only difference between the two of them is that Remy would never do that. Not even to someone he hated. Not even to defend himself."

"You think Remy was capable of this?" Hank asked, clinging to his own mug and sounding somewhere between horrified and astounded. "Capable of manipulation to this extent?"

"Yeah. And I think there's a good reason why he didn't tell us about it."

"He didn't trust us." Ororo spoke up, her voice full of sorrow.

"He didn't trust us?" Scott joined the conversation from the doorway, sounding tired and irritable. Jean wasn't sleeping and Scott was being supportive, which meant he wasn't sleeping either.

"Trust is earned. Someone had to trust first." She replied.

"And it should have been us." Logan spoke up. "We had the whole mansion and each other at our backs. There were always at least ten of us against just him. We should have taken the first step."

"By the sounds of it, he could have turned us all even with the whole mansion against him." Scott said cynically.

"And that's why he couldn't tell us about the power he had. He didn't want to tell us anything that would scare us away from trusting him. Not until we trusted him not to use it against us." Ororo was almost in tears at this realisation of their failure. "And now Rogue has this power, and she has nothing stopping her from using it. No morals and no need for acceptance."

"That ain't Remy's fault." Logan gruffly defended the man. "He ain't ever used it against us. Not even ta protect himself. He could have manipulated Rogue inta takin' him back from Antarctica. He could have manipulated us into takin' the initiative ta trust him. It wouldn't have taken much."

"There's always the possibility that Remy didn't know he had this power, or didn't know how to use it." Hank put forward tentatively.

"He knew. He knew every moment of every day, and it haunted him." Hank was immediately on his feet and rushing to help Betsy into his chair as she wavered in the doorway. She collapsed into the support with relief. "Rogue doesn't have the shielding that Remy has to lock everything in and out where it should be. I saw… things I didn't want to see. He knew exactly what he was capable of, and at times he wanted to use that power – sometimes so badly – but he couldn't do that to another person. I would never have expected him to have that kind of restraint." She half-smiled, her gaze still absent.

"Never mind Remy now, how are you my dear?" Hank pressed, kneeling in front of the woman to check her vitals.

"A little dazed still. Where did Warren go?" Hank glanced up at Logan.

"He went out lookin' fer Rogue. He'll be back soon."

o

o

Logan sat on the end of the bed and watched Alisa watching him. For some reason - perhaps because of their not-quite-rescue, Alisa had taken to clinging to him and Bobby, making sure that there was one of the two not far from her sight at all times. She had claimed Remy's room as her own and refused to leave it for anything but the essentials. Ororo had brought her small bag from her room, and she had disappeared inside her pink sleeping bag with her stuffed cat for most of the afternoon. Logan could see that she was slowly fighting through whatever Rogue had done to her; her behaviour becoming more extroverted at every turn. But still she wouldn't say a word to anyone, biting her lip nervously when asked a question and hiding away from unfamiliar visitors.

Right now Hank was peeling butterfly stitches off a healing wound on her jaw where Rogue had thrown her across the room.

"You're lucky Rogue didn't put her full force behind that blow, my dear, else I fear she might have broken your jaw." Hank was saying. Alisa refused to look at him, her gaze fixed on Logan, panic in her eyes. Hank waited for some kind of reply or acknowledgement and shared a glance with Logan before backing away. "Well then, that's healing up fine. It won't even leave a scar I'm sure you'll be glad to hear."

"Thanks Blue." Logan said, grinning as Alisa moved quickly away from the doctor and to his side.

"I only wish there was more I could do right now." He sighed. "If she wishes, she may visit Remy. He may respond to her if he realises she needs his presence." Hank shrugged, a strange gesture in his form. "We can only hope." With that he headed back down to his lab.

"Remy?" It was more whisper than word, but the first that Alisa had said in over twenty four hours it was more than enough for Logan's sensitive ears. She held his gaze seriously, willing him to answer with her eyes.

"He's not well, kiddo. His head's all messed up, like yours was."

"No. It can't. He doesn't… He's never… Can't get…" A serious frown settled across her features and she looked around the room as if searching for threats. She turned to whisper in his ear. "Never scared."

"You'd be surprised, sweet. He won't talk to any of us. Would you try and talk to him for us?"

"But… where is he?"

"He's in the Medilab. But you're so brave. I bet you could go down there for him." Wide eyes stared back at him.

"It's… there's…"

"Me an' Bobby would be there with ya."

"Not leave me?" Bobby had told Logan that she had been inconsolable while he had been downstairs talking to Hank.

"Not for one minute."

"An'… y'd hol' m' hand?"

"Sure, if yer like."

"'Kay."


	14. Chapter 14

Her mind made up, Alisa was quick in leaping from the bed and heading for the main staircase, trailing the stuffed toy. Logan followed her and called Bobby to his side when he looked out of his room to see what was going on. She paused at the top of the stairs, obviously distressed by the open expanse of the hallway and grand staircase.

"There's a servant's staircase at the back." Bobby told her secretively. "It's quieter back there." Logan looked up at him thankfully. Alisa took Bobby's hand and started walking back towards the other end of the hall.

Taking the long way round the three reached Hank's lab long after he had returned, one of the girl's hands clasped in each of the men's and Logan carrying the toy. Alisa found Remy on the bed in the corner and dragged the men to his side, debating for a moment which hand she would release so that she could reach out and make sure Remy was real. In the end she released them both so that she could wrap her arms around his sides.

"Broder? Will y' talk t' me?" Hank handed a chair to Logan and he urged the girl into it so that she could sit at his side. With her elbows on the bed Alisa lent over so that she could take a good look at Remy. She watched him seriously for a moment, her head cocked as though listening to something. She glanced back at Logan and beckoned him over. When he was close enough she took hold of the wrist of the hand that was holding the toy and made him drop it onto the bed beside Remy. "There. Now Mistah Kitty Head will watch over you." She said with finality. "And when y' ready t' talk t' me, Ah'll be here." And that, it seemed, was that, Alisa leading her two bodyguards back up to Remy's room.

"Did you not want to stay with Remy, Alisa?" Bobby asked curiously, as Alisa settled back onto the bed, looking a little less confident with her stuffed friend at her side.

"He's not there." She answered quietly. "But he'll come back, when he's ready."

o

"Remy, may I see your hands? I fear they may have been further damaged by your long lassitude." A gentle hand rested on his shoulder as a reminder of another's presence before trailing down his arm to his hand - allowing Remy to follow his movements with his body as he couldn't with his eyes. Taking the slender hand in his much larger palm, Hank looked it over. Gently pressing down on the fingers to curl them into a fist he watched Remy go white, though he showed no other reaction to a movement that obviously and unsurprisingly pained him. "Hmm." Hank intoned. "As I thought, the muscles have contracted once again. I will start a passive physiotherapy course with you until you are ready to rejoin us."

o

"Forgive me, my brother. Hank tells me it is not our fault that we turned against you, yet I fear that is not completely true. We should have fought harder against Rogue's return. Fought harder against her leaving with out answering for her crimes. Always I find myself here, begging your forgiveness, and always you refuse to let me take the blame. Today you cannot refuse me. Forgive me, my brother. Please."

o

"Your sister returned home this morning." Hank's voice was light and cheerful. "Your father demanded it of her. She was quite upset, though she is mostly recovered from Rogue's attack. Logan took her personally." Metal rattled across the linoleum floor as Hank brought a chair alongside his bed to work through the exercises on his hands. "I'm not sure how she will survive without her bodyguards. Quite a change has come over Bobby with such responsibility handed to him. I have thanked him on your behalf. You would have been impressed, had you seen him."

o

"She came right back with Logan - I have to admit I half expected as much. Jean has not yet cleared all the debris that Rogue left in her mind. I think you would be able to do it much quicker, I imagine you would know where to look. But no matter, this is not something to argue over now and Alisa will get over her new-found fears eventually. I must go and make sure she wasn't too upset by their journey. Excuse me."

o

"It seems your sister was not aware of the telekinesis she wielded so skillfully against Rogue when threatened." The voice was heavy, but held humour. "I wonder if you yourself were aware, if it has only just manifested. She explained the strange occurrence quite fearfully to Logan yesterday, and he immediately brought it to Jean's attention. The two have come to trust each other since Jean aided her in her fight against Rogue's alien emotions. I don't think she could have a better tutor in such a use of her powers. In many ways she is lucky to be here while she manifests this aspects of her mutation." Hank set Remy's left hand to rest at his side and moved around the bed to pick up the right. "I find myself wondering if Sinister was the one who taught you the use of your powers. You say he offered you control over your charging powers, but you have not told us how. I dare say it is unlikely you will bring yourself to talk to us about such things, you have already been forced to say far too much in your own mind on the matter. Regardless, I am curious how much different your life might have been had we found you just a little earlier. What things might not have come to pass. We can blame you for nothing, if we might have been able to change things ourselves."

o

"I have to admit I am most distressed." Hank's voice was low and bitter. "Sometimes I wonder how these people pass their medical degrees. If they plan to go out into the world and make things worse than they already are… they shouldn't be allowed to practice medicine!" A deep sigh as Hank reigned back in his emotions. The creak of a chair as he took a seat at Remy's side. "Forgive me. I haven't explained. A helicopter flying over the North Sea spotted what they thought to be a small rowing boat far out to sea. Worried, they called in the rescue services and were told to get closer and see if the passenger needed any help. There was a doctor on board the helicopter, just by chance, who realised the truth of the matter. They had found Warren, unconscious in the North Sea." The sudden double beep of Hank's pager, only slightly muffled by his lab coat pocket. He didn't apologise as he dashed from the room, and Remy didn't complain.

o

"Anyway." Hank sounded tired as he returned, later. "Where was I? You are becoming quite the reliable sounding post, my dear Cajun, I hope you understand this. I am coming to trust your advice quite implicitly." He laughed, voice hoarse with tiredness. "Somehow Warren managed to hold enough air in his feathers to keep afloat, but his rescuers seemed determined to make things worse for him. They pulled him out upright - head first. He is lucky he has been well trained and has a very healthy heart else he would not be here with us today. When retrieving a person from the water with a helicopter - and this is the lowest level of medical instruction - they must always be pulled out horizontal, or they suffer huge heart strain at the pressure change." A sigh. "He is pulling through. Goodness knows where Rogue is now."

o

"Gambit." A clearing of the throat. Almost apologetic. "Remy." An annoyed expulsion of air. "It's… Scott. I've been sent by your cluster of female admirers on the team - my wife included - to offer my…" A brief laugh, almost startled. "My apologies for my behaviour. Jean suggests it's because I'm constantly linked to her that I was susceptible to empathic attack by Rogue. She also says I have a subconscious weight of guilt, but then I don't see how talking to you while you're unconscious will help with that…" This under his breath, not really directed to anyone. "Still, this confrontation with Rogue has shown us all what we were missing, and explained one or two things. Now I would very much like you to get up and please get your sister out of my house. She's making a nuisance of herself."

o

"Bobby took Alisa out for ice-cream today." Hank's warm voice. "It was a big step on her behalf, going out into a public space." There was a sloshing noise of liquid in a bag as Hank changed the IV providing Remy with the food to keep him alive as he lay there. "I think Bobby enjoyed the ice-cream a little too much, though. Sometimes I wonder whether that boy will ever grow up. I think Alisa was quite embarrassed to be seen with him, and I do not blame her for that. And only yesterday I was telling you how much he had grown, I should have know better!" Bandages loosening over his collarbone and a sharp pain as Hank felt over a wound. "This is definitely the most severe injury, you could have done worse. The laceration touched the bone, but is healing up quite well." The bandages re-tightened. A soft sigh. "I really had hoped to see you out of this before now."

o

Ororo humming some distant tune, the sounds of movement around the lab. "Morning, brother. The sun is shining today, and everyone is too busy to enjoy it." A quiet sigh. "There is a short mission today, I am just packing up supplies. We will be back before you know it."

o

A distant long whining beep… no stop to it. Running feet, shouting voices. The noise goes quiet as the door is shut. Hank doesn't visit that day.

o

"I sent your sister home. She has left her toy with you, to watch over you I think, but we have no room or time for her at the moment. Logan and Bobby are both needed while we fight a rising brotherhood threat, and Warren is still fighting for his life. I hope you do not mind too much. She is mostly recovered now, and she will be best off in the arms of her family."

o

A week passed in much the same way, Hank always finding some quiet monologue as he went about his business in the lab.

o

One morning Hank came down into the peaceful silence of the lab to find it empty. With a cheerful grin he went about his business. If Remy needed him, he would call.


	15. Chapter 15

"Logan? Are you alright?" Jean asked, seeing him zone out at the kitchen table. Ororo looked up from the newspaper, alert and on her guard. When Wolverine zoned out, people worried.

"Remy's up." He answered absently. Putting his fork down and leaving his breakfast half-eaten, he headed out into the hall. Remy was sat at the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily with his head in his hands.

Ororo rushed to his side and Logan flinched along with Remy - surprise panic fear - as she tried to help him up. Perhaps a little roughly - he did not like being afraid - Logan pulled Ororo away. She stumbled backwards and Jean caught her, pulling her away a little to give Logan room.

"Give the kid some room, 'Ro." He muttered without looking back at them, kneeling in front of Remy but not touching. "Hey Remy. Ya hear me?" He asked. A vague nod. "Can ya look at me?" An auburn head lifted from slender hands and a broad white bandage reminded Logan what a stupid question that was.

"'Fraid… 'fraid not, Wolvie." Deep breathy answer, but the sound of his voice and the heavy tint of humour that flowed into his mind was enough for Logan.

"Sorry, dumb question. Yer lookin' a bit off, ya wanna go back down ta see Hank?" The fear that raced through his mind was not at all expected and he fought to keep from popping his claws. Fight or run, fight or run… can't fight… can't run… terror… "OK, OK, not Hank." He soothed, gripping Remy's upper arm in an attempt to calm him.

"Sorry." A soft whisper, his mind filled with remorse.

"It's alright, really. Just take some deep breaths and we'll get ya up to your room. Get ya into some space you're comfortable with."

"No…" A whisper, not aimed at Logan but at himself. "No, not… I can't…" Standing, pushing Logan away with one hand pressed to his own forehead, backing away and stumbling as his feet hit the stairs. Logan stayed where Remy had put him, glancing to Ororo and Jean to make sure they wouldn't move either.

"Remy, talk to us. What can we do?" Ororo beseeched him as he scrabbled up the stairs away from them.

"Stay 'way. Dieu, please, stay away. I can'… control it. Can' shut it down."

"Come on kid, stay with us. Tell us what's goin' on."

"Remy hears y'… jus' don'…" Panicky, shallow breaths. Withdrawing into the third person like a security blanket. It's not me this is happening to, someone else, somewhere else. Not me. Never me.

"I'm stayin' right here. Not moving an inch." Logan soothed.

"What is it that you can't control, Remy?" Jean pushed gently.

"Dere isn' a name… de… de movemen'."

"The sense you have? The one that leaves you open." Logan realised immediately. The one that you don't use because you can't control it, he added mentally. Remy very rarely allowed himself to use that power out of the controlled environment of the danger room - where there was very little other kinetic activity to distract him. And he would only use it in practice with Logan, who he was less likely to hurt permanently.

"Yes! Open an' dangerous. Charged. Remy don'… Remy don' wanna hurt y'."

"This is me, Gumbo. You can't hurt me for long. You know I'm here, can you feel me?" Logan waved, slowly, to create an extra element of movement for Remy to lock on to.

"Remy… sees y'."

"OK. You stay right where you are, and everyone else is going to stay right where they are, and I'm going to come to you, alright?" Slow and precise words, emoting calm. Deep breaths.

"Oui." Almost a sigh. At that acknowledgement, Logan started moving painfully slowly towards Remy. If he could keep him focused and not let him get distracted there wouldn't be a problem. No problem at all.

Just as he thought he was there, Remy's head flicked up towards the living room door.

"Someone's…" Logan was close enough to hear Remy's heart step up a beat as he fought to rein in powers that were threatening to lash out. He froze.

"It's OK. It's alright. Ororo, ya wanna see who that is." His voice was level and calm, and Logan was quite proud of himself. "Remy? Focus on me, alright? Let Ororo get the door, let me get to you."

"Ou… Oui." The last few steps and he was sat beside Remy on the third step of the grand staircase. Logan forced himself not to react as Remy flinched away from his touch. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's OK. Everyone gets times like this."

"Everyone 'cept…" A steadying breath. "'Cept you an' ol' fearless, neh?"

"What, ya think I don't get times like this?"

"Y' got y' powers on a shorter leash. Learnt control long ago."

"Hey Cyke?" Remy tentatively sought out Scott and Ororo as they walked across the hall towards him, very slowly. "D'ya remember that time I almost stuck ya through?" Scott laughed, shortly.

"Which time? It's not like you don't enjoy threatening me whenever you get a chance."

"That time in the boat house. With Jean."

"Oh that one, when we all thought you'd gone feral, but it turned out Jean was giving off something that smelled good."

"What about yerself, anythin' ya can think of?"

"What? Times when I've lost control of my powers? You have to be kidding, right?" He snorted, with less humour this time. "I have infinite control over my powers. It is unshakeable." The dry sarcasm almost hid the pain in those words.

"The hole in the boathouse wall is probably the best example." Jean answered for him. "We had fun that night."

"Ahem." Scott intoned.

"At least it didn't take us long to realise that intimate relations without the goggles was a bad idea." Jean added. Scott's obvious embarrassment was enough to bring a touch of a smile to Remy's lips.

"Remy, you're up!" Remy flinched, jumping at the sudden unexpected sound. Logan was sure he was about to have a heart attack as Scott ducked and Jean and Ororo followed him to the ground, leaving Bobby standing, confused and baffled, on the other side of the room. When there was no sudden explosions, Scott looked up at Remy and Logan still sat on the stairs. The tension in Logan's body was all that betrayed his apprehension, but Remy was just looking confused.

"Wolvie?" He asked.

"Nothing happened, kid. Maybe ya got more control than ya give yerself credit for?"

"It's… I feel more stable dan I should. Per'aps… Per'aps I'm jus' too tired fo' charges?" Remy seemed to slump sideways against the banister as the tension went out of him.

"Either way, let's get yer upstairs before we get to test the theory out."

o

Quite apprehensively, Remy took the card that Logan placed in his hand. The charge flared quickly and easily into life and tapered out as Remy pulled the energy back into himself. The room was quiet, no extra explosions, no recoil from his opened state. He waited for the flare of energy to fade from his mind, letting his new senses view the world around him.

He was sat on the bed and an open window behind closed curtains was letting in enough breeze to shift the curtains slightly, the draught causing a soft eddy of movement through his room.

Logan was sat across from him, in the chair that normally sat under his desk. He was sitting too still to see the whole of him, but steady breathing, a heartbeat and the blinking of his eyes were all details that he could pick out. The clock's second hand moved slowly around the face. A butterfly brushed against the back of his curtain before finding its way back outside.

He fought to shut it all out enough to think about the words that he was trying to find to describe it. Too much information. He couldn't process it all. Logan shifted at the same time as a bird moved past his window and he was lost in trying to follow both. He pushed a hand against his forehead as he tried to hold it together.

"Y'all right?" So much in that simple question. Lips, face, body, breath.

"It's too much."

"Yer had it together out there. Don't lose it now."

"I don' know…" Logan could see the problem. Faced it every day as the smells and sights and sounds of a world so enhanced tried to draw his attention away from the whole.

"Distance yerself from it. Draw back." It seemed so simple when he put it like that. Remy frowned, trying not to see the tiny detail that was just offering itself up for examination. Seeing the broader picture. Like a painting made up of tiny pixels, with no meaning when seen from too close. Like a blind man learning how to see the world, when all he really wanted to look at was the contours of his lover's face.

"Better?"

"I don' know if dere's more detail dan befo', or if I jus' never let m'sel' see dis much wit'out losin' control."

"But ya got control now?" Remy frowned, searching.

"It's like… th' chargin' power ain' connected anymore." He shrugged.

"Ya think Rogue did this to ya?"

"If she did…" He shrugged. "She did me a favour."

"What… did she do to ya? We don't know enough about yer powers ta work out anythin' more than she had them, and she was usin' them." Remy paled a little.

"What… what happened t' Rogue?"

"We sent her away. It didn't take much ta break away from her when I knew ya weren't… Ya know." He shrugged emphatically. Remy saw. "She messed up Jean and Betsy too, but they're…"

"I know. I… heard." Logan sat up a little straighter, curious.

"Ya were listenin' ta all that crap? I though Hank said ya weren't conscious."

"I didn'… understand. Spent las' night processin' it all. Couldn' react ta anyt'in'…" He shuddered. "T'ink Rogue jus' overloaded m' emotions. Shoved all sorts of t'ings in th' wrong places. I had t'… sort it out. Somehow." He frowned, then shrugged with a wry smile. "Dat's what it felt like, anyways."

"How's ya head feel now?"

"Strange." He smiled softly. "I'll get over bein' open like dis eventually if it means I can keep th' extra sense."

There was a knock at the door, and Remy didn't jump this time.

"Come in, Henri." He greeted. The doctor stepped inside. Remy turned to face Hank, a deep frown in place. "Oh, dis is gonna be fun." He half-whispered. Remy was aware of a morass of movement as Hank took a step into the room. Every element of his fur caught his attention and threw it every which way as he moved, and his thick coat moved with him. He felt nauseous, vaguely aware that Hank was speaking and unable to concentrate on his words.

"Hank, stop, please!" He begged.

"Stop what…?"

"Moving. Stop moving." Logan clarified, at a loss as to why Remy was having such a problem.

"Mon Dieu… the fur." Remy slumped backwards on to his bed, clutching his head once more.

"His sense of movement has broken out, and he doesn't know how to control it." Logan explained as Hank froze in place.

"Isn't that…"

"The one that blows shit up, yeah. But so far nothing's gone bang. He thinks Rogue might have re-wired it accidentally." Hank absorbed this, trying not to nod reassuringly, or make any unnecessary movements.

"Well, as I said, Jean sent me, and I brought up a red filter for your windows. I thought it might allow you to change into your contact lenses without too much pain on your part." Remy nodded.

"Dat's clever." He smiled from where he lay on the bed. "Was hopin' y' wouldn' ask me t' come back t' y' lab to put dem back in. Y' have de only red lamp in th' mansion."

"I'll just…" Hank made a step towards the window with intent to place the filters, but Remy's groan stopped him. "I'll leave these with Logan." He finished. "Call me if you need me." He added, heading quickly for the door.


	16. Chapter 16

Heading back to his lab and worrying that Remy now had yet another reason to avoid him, Hank walked the quiet corridors of the lower levels to stand at the door to the medilab. Looking in, he found Warren sitting up in his bed and talking with Betsy as he ate his first solid meal in days, a newspaper not far from hand. He strode into the room, quickly taking in the readings on all the monitors. He nodded his approval as he noted them all down on the chart, before acknowledging either of his attentive audience with a smile.

"You're doing very well, Warren." He grinned, a bright flash of teeth. "I want you doing gentle exercise today, walking only. No rushing, no flying, no leaving the house. If you start to feel pressure around your chest, or any dizziness or nausea, I want you to come straight back here, and call me on the way down. Don't wait until you're here to call me. Otherwise, you're free to go. I want you back at noon tomorrow so I can do a follow up." Hank silently blessed being able to stay in the same house as his patients, so that he could release them from his lab long before any other doctor might be able to and not fear any sudden change in their condition.

Watching Warren's slow progress out of his lab, Hank nodded to himself. _Another customer well served._ He chuckled to himself.

He had only just settled in his office when the phone on his desk rang, registering an internal call.

"Hey, Hank?" Logan's voice. "Ya think ya could come back up here a second?"

o

Remy was still sitting on the bed, as he had been when he had left, but the bandage was gone from around his head and the curtains were open. The big red filters were in place over the window, giving the room a deep red tint. Remy physically flinched as Hank walked through the door, but held still and looked up, trying to haze over the detail of Hank's fur.

Hank resisted the urge to gasp as Remy looked up, approaching quickly and forgetting about Remy's discomfort. With one hand on Remy's shoulder, he turned his chin towards the window so that he could take a better look at his eyes.

At first Hank had thought that his pupils had shrunk down to near nothing with the brightness of the red light, but now he could see that his eyes no longer held that deep red glow at all.

"My goodness."

"Yeah, that's what I said." Logan smirked. Remy had to snort at that.

"Forgive me." He murmured, his mind already racing with the implications. "I suspect this is linked to the sudden expansion of your kinesthetic powers."

"Y' have th' nicest names fo' what I am, Henri." Remy said, wryly. Hank ignored him.

"I've just never seen mutant powers redistributed in this way. Though I have to admit I've never seen anyone in your position before."

"So, dis is it den. No more chances fo' recov'ry?" Blank face, poker face. As if he didn't care either way.

"I wouldn't say that. Certainly not. This is simply your body adapting to the constraints placed upon it. I have nowhere near enough information to confirm any diagnosis. Your optical physiology is unique, save for your sister's, and I have been able to discover so very little about it. Have you tested whether or not you are still photosensitive?"

"I don'…" Remy's face hardened. He turned his attention to Logan, the turning of his head habitual. "Th' bat'room has a window."

Logan got the hint, disappearing through the door, leaving Remy to realize that so long as there was nothing in motion between him and another moving object, he could see it just as well. He watched Logan through the wall as he headed towards the window, opening the blinds. He looked back to where he knew the door was, trying to work out whether or not it was open. It was becoming obvious that he could focus his attentions on one thing in high detail and shut out almost everything else that was going on around him, or just let himself be open to the bulk of details all around him. Neither involved actually turning his head in the right direction, though habit demanded it of him. He couldn't find the door, open or closed. He scowled, until he realized Logan was leaning out of the bathroom and looking at him expectantly. Which meant the door was open, and the window's blinds too.

"Not'in'." He confirmed what Hank and Logan could already see. A deep weight settled in his stomach, and he felt Logan's wrench even as he heard his sigh. Hank could use all the pretty words he wanted, he knew what this meant for him.

"Ah well, this will save you the problem of changing the lenses, at least." Hank suggested, his voice overly cheerful. "I would ask that you come down to my lab at some point so that I might run a few tests to gauge the implications of this occurrence, but I know quite well that you are less than likely to comply. When you are ready, we can discuss contacting Leadenhall - the school we talked about - and arranging your application." Quietly excusing himself, Hank left Logan and Remy alone once more.

o

"Bin tol' t' get some exercise, Stormy." Remy grinned at his long-time friend as she settled beside him on the bed. "Bin awhile since we sparred, hehn?"

"It has, Remy, but are you sure?" Ororo asked, worry evident in her tone. "You're only just out of bed." Remy flexed his fingers one at a time, wincing as damaged skin tightened across his knuckles. His 'Stormy' was one of the few people he would not hide his vulnerability from and he would expect the same openness from her, it was part of what made their relationship what it was.

"Gotta start somewhere." He answered eventually.

Storm's grin shone through into her voice as she replied, "Then there is nothing I would like more, Remy. And please stop calling me by that ridiculous name."

o

Ororo left only long enough to retrieve her own bo staff from her room and to check with Hank as to when she should force Remy to stop, knowing he would continue much beyond his own limits if allowed to. She loved him dearly, but sometimes he had to be watched to stop him from hurting himself. She knew the Goddess had delivered her to him for a bigger reason than her own safety in her time of vulnerability. He needed protection, now more than ever, and she was more than willing to give it.

"Come then, my friend. Let us see if, even in this state, you are able to defeat me without effort as you used to."

"You've beaten me b'fo'." Remy replied, laughing as he attempted to sooth her ego. She took his hand as he held it out to her, wrapping it securely in the crook of her own elbow as they made their way out of the door, picking up the two wooden practice staffs from the doorway as they went.

"Maybe once or twice, but I have a distinct suspicion that it wasn't my own skill that allowed me to succeed on those occasions." Ororo said chidingly. "I believe one of those was due to a broken wrist that you had 'forgotten' to inform me about." Remy had the good grace to look a little sheepish.

"Yeah, but…" Remy tensed and it took Ororo only a moment to discern the reason. Warren was standing at the end of the corridor they had been walking down, looking at them both with a kind of distain in his eyes. She had no doubt Remy knew exactly what the man's emotions were and she could feel him shrinking back with every step she took forward.

"Stand tall, Remy. Stand tall." She murmured to him before they came into ear-shot. Projecting her love with all her might; Ororo felt Remy's stance change - not confrontational, simply strong. She prayed Worthington would keep his mouth shut and not spoil that temporary strength the she had been able to lend him.

"Don't worry, LeBeau, girls love a vulnerable man."

It was too much to ask really, she mused, flinching at the sound of the other man's voice. Some things even the Goddess had no control over. Remy's body language faltered, but he continued striding on in his long-legged gait. It became questionable who was leading whom.

"Running LeBeau? Well, now I know who hasn't been getting any lately... you should really be careful..." Ororo's arm slipped from Remy's and, uncertain, he froze, not wanting to stick around Warren longer than need be, but not trusting his own knowledge of the building to walk on blind. Perhaps, if he had been focused on his own position from his room he'd have been more confident but he had been talking with Ororo, allowing her to distract him. As a trained thief he cursed his distraction, he would never have let it slip so badly once upon a time. But his extraordinary night vision had made him lazy in mapping his surroundings and keeping track of every step and movement. If you could see in just about any situation – what was the point?

Vertigo and panic began washing over him, one boosting the other until both were completely out of control and he was fighting the urge to curl up and hide from the darkness. The spinning of the cold blank walls around him stopped him from focusing on Ororo and Warren who were not so far away. A far distant part of him was amused that he would have settled for even Warren's presence right then to stabilize himself. A deep void opened at his feet, and he fought the unreasonable feeling that the floor was dropping away around him, leaving him on an island of solid ground in some great abyss.

A deep wrench in his gut left him with the sickening thought: this is it. This is your life. Forever.

Forever.

o

The feeling of Ororo's hand on his arm a lifetime later brought him back to himself.

"Remy?" The word was flooded with Ororo's concern. He must look as bad as he felt. "Do you want to go back to your room?"

"Non, I'll be fine. What happen' t' th' birdbrain?" He asked, wanting to draw attention away from himself for a moment and genuinely curious as to where the weather goddess had disappeared to and why Warren's tirade had stopped so abruptly.

"He's taking a moment's rest. Though he may wake with a small headache." She sounded tremendously pleased with herself and not at all guilty.

"Y' knocked him out?"

"You see, my hand… it slipped." She claimed innocently. Not an ounce of guilt. Remy couldn't help but smile too. "Are you sure you're OK, Remy?" She asked, suddenly serious. "You're looking quite pale."

"Jus' a li'l dizzy. T'ought vertigo was fo' heights, no' fo' mansion corridors."

"Do you feel disorientated? Nauseous?" She pulled away and he almost moaned at the loss of the contact. "I'll get Hank." She continued, oblivious. He caught her hand before she could step away.

"Stay." His voice cracked and he hated himself for it.

"Of course." And she was immediately back at his side, holding him, grounding him. Slowly the ground returned to its usual position and he brought his breathing back under control. "Better?" She asked as he sighed deeply. He nodded, not trusting his voice straight away. The earlier betrayal had left him wary. She took his arm again and began to walk back towards his room.

"Where' y' goin' Stormy? We're supposed t' be doin' some sparrin'."

"You don't expect me to believe that you are still in a fit state to spar?"

"Y' know me, a'ways up fo' more." He hoped his grin didn't give away the lie.

"You've just had a vertigo attack in the middle of the hallway, Remy."

"I've seen you get claustrophobia in th' middle o' danger room sims an' not call halt. All dat's differ'nt here is dat… I'm no' scared o' small spaces." She heard the unspoken words as soon as he realized what he was about to say and changed them. She looked up at him, wishing she could meet his alien eyes, to see some truth in them.

"What are you afraid of my friend?" She asked softly.

"Bein' alone. In th' dark." His words were whispered. Barely there. As though the less they were spoken the less true they would become. Ororo looked on in wonder.

"But you are a thief, you live in darkness. And alone."

"Dis t'ief's eye's ain' normal t'ough. An' when de only darkness y' see all y' life is th' bit behind y' eyelids, it becomes a diff'rent place."

"I never knew…"

"Don' t'ink I did... Nev'r bin in true dark b'fo'." There was a hesitation in the sentence that made Ororo curious, but if Remy didn't want to say something then he wouldn't be convinced.

"Then we shall simply have to ensure you are never alone." Ororo smiled softly.

"I can' ask y' t' babysit me, 'Ro. Y' have ot'er t'ings t' do. I'm gonna be in Xavier's school…" He snorted. "…his ot'er school, befo' long."

"What 'other things' do I have to do? There is no crisis looming, so missions will be rare and most will not need my expertise. The only time I am busy with anything other than meditation and the care of my plants is my danger room sessions, which seem to take place long before you awake each morning. And we have at least a week before you leave for Leadenhall." She took a long breath. "Remy, I enjoy your company. Please do not deprive me of it under some unnecessary sense of independence."

Remy chuckled. "So now I'm 'deprivin' y' of m' company'?"

"Are you sure you feel up to sparring? I will sit with you even if you choose not to go through with this." Her voice soft and low.

"Oui, Stormy, I'm sure." And he found he did, desperate for some entertainment after a day of boredom.

"If you use that cursed nickname one more time, by the Goddess, I'll leave you here to find your own way back to your room." She was teasing and he knew it, but he couldn't help but tense a little at the threat.

"Ok, ok, Ororo," he enunciated her name heavily, "Now lets go, befo' de bird brain wakes up an' tries t' accuse Remy o' hittin' him." They laughed together and Ororo couldn't remember any sound she'd heard that lifted her spirits so.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: At this point I must thank Louise, who provided me with a life experience I will not quickly forget, whilst proceeding to ace five A-levels while I only just managed to complete three. Damn her. toasts To A students, people-watching and asking questions.

o

o

o

Ororo visited him in Leadenhall weekly to ensure that there was never anything Remy needed, though, generally, he asked for nothing save her next visit.

Hank visited once to check over Remy's hands for the last time and declare him fit to return to his usual exercise. He left as soon as he was done, very aware that Remy was forcefully hiding his discomfort with his every move.

The professor visited him as soon as he returned to the mansion and the Leadenhall staff greeted him like an old friend. He listened quietly as Remy spoke of his own experiences of all that had happened in his absence, and Remy listened as Xavier told him of the goings-on at the mansion. He spoke of Warren's near-full recovery, despite the strange fainting spell that had worried Hank early on, and the search for Rogue that had been instigated.

But one significant visitor never arrived, and Remy found himself thinking once again about taking advantage of this quiet time to strip down his shields and start rebuilding them all over again without the imperfection of the last rebuild.The imperfection that ached in his mind through the emptiness, that made him lonely even when others were there.

He'd been in the school for three weeks when he finally decided that it was about time he did something about his shields. Taking advantage of a day off with the knowledge that the top floor of the library was rarely used save for storage due to a leaking roof, he made his way towards the empty space with the intention to completely rebuild his shields.

o

Logan stopped his bike in the car park, not quite sure what he was expecting to find but not expecting something that looked like every other high school in the country. The reception was a bulky building that dominated one end of the car park, standing guard over the school. Beyond it, he could see doors that opened into a wide open hall with a stage at one end. Rows of empty seats all attentively faced the stage. Off to either side, two-story brick buildings surrounded a wide courtyard, and a set of signs beside reception gave pointers towards the library, residential area, sports centre and student services.

Only looking a little closer did he see the Braille on the sign; the simple, unembellished Leadenhall logo; the guiding rail on the side of the courtyard, and the student making his way around the far building and across one edge of the courtyard with white cane in hand, wide sweeps showing his path.

He blinked, stepping off his bike. The auburn haired student - tall and lean and looking perhaps a little different with his head down and without that arrogant posture and cocky swagger that he could recognise from miles off.

"Remy!" He called across the courtyard, smirking as Remy started a little, hesitating mid-sweep as he automatically looked up. There was a sudden rush of unfamiliar emotion as a familiar feeling settled into the back of Logan's mind. He smiled broadly. He had wondered if Remy might remove their link while he was away and, though he was loath to admit it, he had missed the extraordinary connection.

"Wolvie?" Remy asked, a grin of his own forming. He didn't approach though, waiting for Logan to come to him.

"Thought I'd come check out yer digs. Got bored of Scooter's prattle without ya ta back-talk him." Logan gave his excuses when he had closed the distance so he wouldn't have to shout.

"T'ought y' might come sooner, m' out of m' mind bored." Remy smiled. "Need a drink.?"

"Thought ya might wanna get me out of yer shields. Didn't know how long you'd need."

"I… din' get aroun' t' it. Sorry."

"Why are ya sorry?"

"Still messin' wit' y' head. I know y' hate it."

"'S all right. I'm gettin' used ta it. Come on, let's get indoors. Then we'll talk about that drink."

"Lead on, mon ami."

o

They talked about what Remy had been doing at the school, Logan quietly taking in the emotions flowing through the link between them as the crossed each topic. Logan learned that learning new things excited Remy - he was taking in Braille almost faster than he was being taught it - but revisiting old things to find new and safer ways of doing them made him bitter. He'd given up on hot drinks because the flare of heat in his mind was so distracting he couldn't focus and he ended up overfilling the cup. The thought of eating in public filled him with a deep embarrassment that Logan quickly decided he would have to cure him of as soon as possible. He looked closely and realised that Remy was perhaps a little skinnier than he remembered. That wouldn't do at all.

Remy eventually got bored of talking about himself, and started asking his own questions. Warren was well and back on the team with Hank's consent. There was still no sign of Rogue and Warren couldn't remember enough of his confrontation to indicate where she might be. Ororo was missing his company dreadfully, and Bobby was trying to fill in his place as team boss-irritant. Scott wasn't taking it well, and Bobby wasn't taking his punishment well. He never had been one for mornings.

Their conversation fell into a lull, having decided it was too early to go out drinking and that Remy wasn't really up for the social scene. But Logan wasn't quite ready to let go of the link that he'd missed. It was Remy that spoke again first, his non-question tentative.

"I was wonderin'… since y' here…"

"What d'ya want, Gumbo?" Logan's voice was gruff, but betrayed his smile.

"Henri said I can go back t' proper exercise wit' m' hands." Logan knew that 'proper exercise' for Remy meant what most people would class as top level gymnastics. "Need someone t' watch me t'rough, jus' fo' th' firs' few times."

"Ta make sure ya don't hurt yerself?" Logan had worked with Remy in training before, when an injury or illness had left him weakened and he was testing his boundaries in a potentially dangerous situation.

"Got some new challenges t' work aroun', neh?"

"Why can't ya ask one of the guys here? They'd know how ta…"

"Y' turnin' me down, Wolvie?" His tone was light, but Logan could feel the undercurrent of hurt.

"Where do ya want ta go?" He gave in with a smile.

"Was hopin' y' wouldn' mind takin' me down t' th' gym in town. Dey only have a basic gym here."

"Sure." He agreed amiably. "Ya said ya had the day off? Ya wanna go now?" Remy's grin was brilliant as he moved to the chest of drawers and pulled out a set of sweats, stuffing them into a satchel that came easily to hand. Hand and wrist supports came out of another drawer and followed into the bag. Putting the bag beside the door, Remy turned to pick up his coat and the folded white cane that he had dropped onto the desk when they had arrived disappeared into a deep pocket.

"Ya ready?" Logan asked, handing over the bag before Remy had a chance to reach for it.

o

The time of day meant that the huge gymnastics hall was mostly empty. Only the young hopefuls that were having their bodies beaten into submission by their trainers were still working. Most of the floor was covered with mats, a couple of sponge pits here and there for the youngsters. Pieces of equipment were stacked up against the walls, and a wide open space in the middle was used for warm up and for the floor event. The spaces were marked out by taped lines on the ground - to stop gymnasts from colliding on the floor and to make positioning the equipment safer.

With a light hand on Logan's shoulder, Remy followed him to the centre of the hall into the open space. Tapping Remy's hand to indicate that they were in place, they separated and went through a standard warm up. Remy concentrated on stretching and warming up every inch of his body, quickly feeling the sluggishness that came from many weeks without this level of exercise. When he was done Remy stood tall once more, happy that he was well stretched.

"How big is th' mat, Logan?" He asked as Logan finished stretching. Logan looked at their small section and guessed.

"About six metres square?"

"We in th' middle?"

"Started off there. You moved ta the left while ya were warming up." Remy took three strides backwards and one to his left then turned slightly to face the far corner.

"Alright?" Logan glanced at the mat, to make sure Remy was in the corner. He nodded.

"Ya want me ta take the other corner?"

"Oui. Jus' make sure I don' disappear off th' far end." He waited for Logan to move into place, trying to judge the distance from Logan's moving form. He found he didn't have the depth perception he needed. Six by six square - he calculated quickly - two steps and two short moves, just enough room to fluff the landing without ploughing into Logan. Not that he was planning on fluffing the landing, of course. He slid his foot sideways and found the tape under his bare feet. Following the line he found the intersecting tape and made sure he was facing Logan who was shifting in the opposite corner.

He was running by the first step, hitting on the second and in flight, one flip with a landing a little heavy but still enough spring for the second flip. He landed heavily again - the weight from the first following through, making him step forwards - but he stopped short of the arm that swung out like a barrier into his path to stop him from overstepping the mat. He grinned wildly, turning to face Logan as he brought his arms back to cross over his chest.

"Hmm."

"'Hmm' what, ol' man?"

"Bit heavy on those landin's." Logan said truthfully. He'd never dream of being able to match him, but Logan knew what Remy was capable of. His comment did nothing to displace the grin, or the bubbling joy that was near electrifying. "Do it again." With a nod, Remy turned and walked calmly towards the corner of the mat he'd started at. Logan let him walk a little off the corner, curious as to whether he would be able to adjust to his mistake. When Remy came across the tape, he hesitated, knowing that he should be in the corner and that he wasn't. He shook his head and turned to follow the tape back to the corner, standing ready once more. Logan grinned.

Nodding to acknowledge that he was ready and knowing Remy would see it, he watched as Remy set off again. His steps were longer this time, and were followed by a much more energetic lift-off.

Even as he made his first landing - light as a whisper, bare feet on padded mats - Logan could see it going wrong. But Remy had taken off again before he could warn him that he was too far across the mats to make another one. He was set to land in one of the sponge pits, a good couple of inches below the level of the mat. He was going to break an ankle if he landed in that without expecting it.

In a second, Logan had judged where Remy would land and thought through a dozen ideas. Resigning himself to the one that would most likely hurt Remy the least, he let him reach inches above where he was expecting the ground to be, his body already fully extended to absorb the weight of the landing. Launching himself across the room, Logan tackled Remy, only just reaching the next mat across before they landed in an ungainly heap with a joint expulsion of air that left them both gasping.

"Din' t'ink dis was a contact sport." Remy wheezed, not moving from where Logan had dumped him on the mat.

"Ya overshot the mat."

"Merde." Remy sat up slowly, rubbing at his ribs. There was a brief snigger from the other side of the room as the younger gymnasts, having taken a break, watched the scene. Logan growled at them until they hurried away fearfully and turned back to Remy, who didn't seem to have noticed.

"Did I hurt ya?" He reached out to push escaping strands of hair out of Remy's face.

"I'll live." A wry smile as he pushed Logan away and retied his hair. "Per'aps somet'in' a lil' more static, neh?" They made their way back onto the centre mats.

"Ya wanna start on yer hands?" Logan asked, finding the centre of the mat once more and feeling Remy's hand drop from his shoulder.

"D'accord." Remy agreed. Dropping to his knees, Remy placed both hands flat on the mat in front of himself and - as though he had a hand lifting his body - he brought himself slowly up into a handstand.

There was a spike of anger that raced through Logan's mind even as Remy wobbled and his right arm buckled beneath him, forcing him to roll forwards to catch himself. Logan shook of the impulse to reprimand him - a response to the anger that was all Remy's.

"Y'alright?"

Remy sat shaking his hands out as he grunted an affirmative.

"T'row th' supports over." He asked, emotions streaked with irritation. Logan threw them one by one from the far side of the mat, where he'd left them, and watched as Remy caught them all left-handed, visibly favouring his right hand. He donned all four supports - the tight neoprene wrist supports and the padded supports that were more like bandages that supported his palm and upper hand. This time when he pulled up into a handstand he held it for several seconds before dropping back down onto the mat.

Calm approval. It didn't give him the excitement of the huge fluid movements, but it was good to be back.

"Once more," Logan said. "And we'll step it up a level."

o

It didn't take much for Remy to convince Logan to come back the next day, or the day after that. Things were quiet at the mansion, and as long as Logan kept a comm. nearby, the X-men didn't need him right there. Without meaning to, Logan became Remy's personal trainer, pushing him when he thought he needed to be pushed, letting him push himself for the rest of the time, and making sure he didn't push himself too hard. It quickly became obvious that Remy would never be able to do this kind of exercise independently: the movements meant he was unable to focus on his surroundings, and they left him disorientated if there was no one nearby when he landed. It was dangerous for him and for anyone else using the gym at the same time.

When Remy was pulling off fluid handsprings and was able to put full weight on his hands in a dynamic movement, they moved the exercises onto the equipment.

o

"When you're ready, lift." They had been pushing on this for what felt like hours, Remy - in a wide handstand on the parallel bars - was fighting to transfer his weight onto one hand. Every time, his stance collapsed inwards and he was forced to dismount the bars to save himself from falling head-first. He'd scrapped the hand wraps as too bulky for this exercise, the wrist supports offered him a little more stability. A deep breath and Remy curled downwards in a controlled dismount, shaking his head.

"It ain' gonna go."

"Let's take a break." Logan urged, drawing Remy away from the equipment and onto the seats that edged the room. Dropping a bottle of energy drink into Remy's hands, he turned his attention to the young girl throwing herself about on the beam as her trainer screamed at her. He shook his head silently, drawing Remy's attention.

"What is it, homme?"

"The girl out there, killin' herself 'cause he wants her to. Don't seem right."

"No' many t'ings in dis world are right, mon ami." Logan watched the student and trainer a moment longer.

"Why are ya here, Gumbo? Doin' this ta yerself?"

"Been part of m' life since I was ten." He shrugged, gesturing to the two still working. "When it was me dere… killin' m'sel' 'cause mon pere wanted me to. It would be givin' in, t' stop now. Givin' in t' all sorts of t'ings I don' wanna admit." Logan simply nodded, accepting the honesty in what he was saying. A rare gift from this man.

"Ya ready ta go again?"

o

He pulled up into the handstand as if it took no effort at all, perfectly straight and not a quiver of movement, despite the huge fluid swings it had taken to get into the position. Every muscle in his body was tensed to keep him there, and it was going to take as much as his body could give, to get him onto one hand.

"When you're ready, lift." Logan's voice was behind him, quiet encouragement. He knew he was ready. He opened his right hand on the bar, a forceful relaxation of those muscles. The smallest push, exertion of every muscle down his left side to bring his balance across, and his hand was off the bar. He spread his weight into a stable position, with his right hand outstretched to offer counterbalance, as quickly as he could. There was a slight wobble, but it was quickly countered as Remy held the position.

"And down." Logan intoned, his voice holding none of the excitement - his own and Remy's - that he could feel buzzing between them.

He swore as Remy missed the pole on the way back down and started falling, unable to catch himself. He wrapped one thick arm around his waist, the other catching his hips as he fell, only just catching him before his head hit the ground. He held still and just breathed for a second to still his racing heart before remembering that Remy was upside down and gently lowering him to the ground.

Logan was suddenly worried when Remy turned away from him, a shudder running through his shoulders.

"Remy?" He asked. The hilarity rolled through his mind even as Remy turned around to show that he was fighting against laughter. "Right... I think it's time ta go home." He smirked, unable to resist the laughter invading his mind for long.


	18. Chapter 18

A Brit lesson for you all. "Tucking in" is something you do at the start of a meal, normally with enthusiasm. When everyone's ready to eat someone says "tuck in" and everyone eats. :D Now don't you feel multicultural. Say it at dinner tonight and see how many people look at you strangely.

This chapter, as you see it here, is a mere shadow of what it should be. The full chapter is available on the Loganremy group of yahoo and carries an NC-17 rating. As always, thanks to Drae for her much appreciated betaing skills, and the cheer-leading doesn't go amiss either.

Oh… and when you get to the end of this chapter……… please don't kill me?

o

o

His eyes were on Remy's face as they headed out of the sports complex. Logan watched for the now familiar symptoms of Remy's withdrawal from the world, wondering if the day's outburst of laughter would spell the end of it. He had been startled the first time, seeing Remy's head drop and his stride lengthen, a blank expression falling into place. He had thought that the return of the strong stance and stature when he was in his element would offer Remy a little more strength when he left. But the broad smiles and confident walk were reserved for inside, and the outside's uncertainty tore it from him without compassion. And it did today, despite the achievements of the day's session.

"I'm gonna stop fer food on the way back." Logan spoke up to hide his own disappointment, not allowing Remy a chance to object. "Scooter's cookin' tonight, and I want ta eat somethin' edible." Remy nodded, the slightest shadow of a smile doing nothing to mask the roar of panic that was streaming through Logan's mind.

"Drive t'rough?" Remy clung to his last hope. Logan made a face.

"Ya expect me ta eat that shit? Nah, there's a diner round the corner. Good decent food."

"Which means dey'll do y' a steak hardly cooked an' not complain." Remy grumbled. Logan hid a smile, any response save passive dismissal he would take as positive at the moment.

"Something like that. Come on."

o

All the tension that was determinedly not showing in Remy's face and posture was revealed to Logan in the tight grip on his shoulder as they approached the little diner. A quiet word made sure that Remy didn't stumble on the few steps up into the bright space and Logan took a booth near the door, more out of habit than anything else. A waitress was immediately at their table, her eyes only for Remy as he slouched into the plastic-covered seat, the picture of relaxation as he draped his arm along the back. His gaze was on the street outside the window, though he saw only the vague movements of the people walking by.

"What can I get for you guys?" She begged for the attentions of those eyes, but received only an unfocused glance before they returned to the street, the soft brown iris' not quite meeting her expectations somehow. Logan wondered absently whether Remy could pick up on her flirtatious behaviour. Whether he still cared.

"I'll have a steak, rare - you hear me? Rare, not just pink." He ordered, remembering a little belatedly that Remy's new pet hatred was eating in public. He knew Remy wasn't eating properly, but he hadn't worked out how to call him on it yet.

"Ham and cheese toasty wit' fries." Remy told the window, not even glancing back this time. Logan was pretty sure ordering a sandwich was his way around having to put any thought into eating, but didn't say anything. At least he was eating.

They sat waiting for their food and Logan stared unabashed as Remy explored the table with his hands. Identifying the tower of upside down glasses and the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, the salt and pepper pots on his left, by the window, the napkin dispenser a little further over on Logan's side of the table. He drew his hands abruptly back into his lap as the waitress approached with knives and forks, leaning across him to place his fork and giving him an entirely wasted view down her top. Remy had turned his attentions back on the street outside. Huffing at his lack of attention, she slammed Logan's implements down, striding off. Logan waited for her to stalk out of earshot before asking what was on his mind.

"I know ya can feel her flirting with ya. 'S not like you ta ignore that kind of attention." Brown eyes slid up to his face out of habit, and Logan found himself hating those expressionless covers. It had taken him so long to realise that you could read emotion in the alien red-on-black orbs Remy had once possessed and he'd never had a chance to exploit the realisation.

"What's th' point, hehn? Watch dis." Digging into the pocket of his trench, Remy pulled out the folded cane and put it beside him on the table. He pointedly turned his head again so that he appeared to be looking out of the window, but Logan knew his attention was on the girl that had just come out of the kitchen again, this time with their food.

She approached with determination, a sweet smile on her face just in case Remy turned. When she spotted the stick, she stopped abruptly, face falling. The food was placed in front of them without comment, and the waitress nearly fled back into the kitchen, leaving other customers looking to them, curious as to why.

Remy turned to Logan with a wry smile and a shrug, hiding the cane in his pocket once more as he found his sandwich on the plate and tucked in.

"Ya know you could fool her if ya tried. Especially with the contacts."

"What's th' point?" He asked angrily. "Could only fool her so far."

"How far are ya plannin' on goin' with a waitress in a diner? Ya used ta flirt 'cause ya enjoyed it, it made ya feel good with yer empathy, not 'cause ya planned ta sleep with everythin' that moved." Remy frowned for a second, baffled.

"Non… non, I really did plan t' sleep wit' everyt'in' dat moved." Remy said with a smirk. Logan looked stumped for a moment, and Remy couldn't help but laugh at Logan's confused emotions.

"Well…" Logan struggled to return to his previous argument. "I'm just sayin', it'd be easier on yer empathy if ya didn't go outta yer way to piss people off."

"People gon' be more pissed off if I lead dem on an' den tell dem."

"So don't bother ta lead them on, just flirt like ya used ta. Ya don't need ta hide anythin'." Remy shook his head absently, finishing his food as he dismissed Logan's argument. "Are ya still up fer that drink?"

o

Remy was trailing one hand down the wall as he walked, having decisively shaken off Logan's guiding hand in these more familiar halls. He stumbled a little as he reached the door before his and Logan winced as he fell against it with a bang. He looked dazed for a moment, and before he could lift his weight off the door it opened and he fell sprawling across the floor over the surprised neighbour.

"Jamie!" He shouted, overjoyed at this unusual late-night meeting. Jamie looked less than overjoyed, obviously woken by the noise.

"Remy? What are you…" His nose wrinkled. "You're pickled!"

"Yeah, that's my fault." Logan spoke up. Jamie's attention turned to the other man curiously.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in." He said, almost embarrassed.

"It's Logan."

"Oh, the one who's been taking Remy out to the gym! Damn, you walk quietly." He shook his head, incredulous. "I didn't believe you actually existed for a while." Logan knew he walked quietly, a product of good training and habit, but he hadn't thought about it being a problem around here. He resolved to walk louder, then realised what a stupid resolution that was.

Perhaps he was just a little drunk too, affected by the roller-coastering emotions racing through his mind. With Remy drunk, the hold over his emotions had dropped and with the two of them connected even before this drunken release, Logan was feeling every dip and curve.

He tended to sober up all too quickly with his healing factor, so he resolved to enjoy this while he could. Realising he was making all too many resolutions he giggled, resolving not to make any more.

"Look. Lovely though it is to have you on my lap, Remy…" Jamie started to say. Remy snorted hysterically at nothing in particular, rolling off Jamie's lap and beating his fists against the carpet as he fought to control his laughter. Tilting his head up to try and find Logan at the door, Jamie tried again. "Logan, you any more sober?" Another giggle answered him.

"Right." A long-suffering sigh. "Look, stay in one of the spare rooms overnight. You're both seeped in drink, you can't drive home now." Logan would have growled at the assumption that he couldn't drive like this, if it hadn't been for the severe leap of joy that wrenched his heart upwards. Remy wanted him to stay over night.

"Simon's ol' room is free!" Remy suggested sluggishly, recovering from his laughing fit.

"Simon?" Logan asked.

"M' ol' neighbour. Lived opposite. Got himself cured." A self-pitying wrench as Remy staggered to his feet and ungracefully made his way out of the room, waving one hand in front of him to guide his way. Logan grasped his shoulder as Remy made his way past him.

"Hey, it's all right Rems." Logan pulled him back, gathering up his hands and trying to think through the fog in his mind. "Hank's still got hope, don't give up."

"S'ard. 'S…" Remy frowned. "Hard not t' when I'm lear'in' skills fo' th' blin' an' hopeless." Jamie snorted and turned to go. "An' I can spen' a whole nigh' in a bar an' only come home wit' m' chaperone."

"Remy will show you the room. Sleep well." Jamie said as he closed the door behind him. Logan barely acknowledged him, trying to soothe Remy out of the alcohol-soaked depression he had dropped himself into. He gently guided Remy back towards his room as he muttered quietly to himself in a conglomeration of languages, none of which Logan could quite identify until he started declaring his undying love for the X-men in French as he fished through his bag for his keys.

"Et j'aime ma petite Stormy. Et tu…" Remy paused, pulling Logan close to him and gazing over the top of his head lovingly. "Et tu… mon amour!" Remy didn't get a chance to finish that sentence, as he fell against his door and remembered that they didn't have keys, once again ending up sprawled across the floor.

Settling a barely conscious Remy into his bed, Logan tore himself away from the strangely enchanting sight of the energetic man so still and easily found the vacant room opposite - empty and quiet with only the slightest scent of the person before still lingering. He slumped down on the bed, with only enough sense to push off his shoes before falling into a doze.

o

It would have been impossible to determine afterwards which of them was responsible for the surge of lust that sparked and built between them. Regardless, the result was almost instantaneous - two mutants both as horny as mink and both with a blood-alcohol level that would have put most people in hospital. It didn't take a big leap of logic for Logan's mind to settle on the course of action that it did, and opening the door to find Remy mirroring him on the other side of the corridor did nothing but cement the decision in his mind. Sober enough to stand up straight at least, Remy smiled across the corridor at Logan, draping himself along the doorframe. He'd woken long enough to take out the contacts at some point during the night, but was still fully dressed, boots and all. Black orbs, empty of any spark, stared back at Logan, and he wondered if there was any way to tell which way Remy was looking. Was the pupil darker than the rest, or paler? He moved closer to take a look and followed Remy into the room when he backed away from him, closing the door behind him.

A more innocent mind, with an ear pressed to the door at that moment, might have mistaken the sounds as those of a desperate fight for survival, perhaps between a man and some wild animal. But there was battle of a very different kind going on.

An empath unlucky enough to come across this room would have surely left with a headache as shared, mirrored and confused emotions were buffeted back and forth between the two minds opened by alcohol as they strove to mark each other any way they could.

It was later, their passions reaching heights unimagined, that the fall came. The unlucky empath would have been bombarded at that moment with fear, hate, panic, so quickly followed by an overwhelming surge of disgust and shame. The emotions so intermingled in the sharing minds that even they would have been unable to define whose was whose. It was Logan, though, that came charging from that room still zipping his jeans and trailing a creased shirt. Remy who was left alone in his room, brought to his knees by his own clothes clawing at his ankles as he tried to follow with words of regret on his lips.

"I'm sorry… I was… I'm sorry." Silence met his apology, and far distance the sound of a gunned engine roaring into life.


	19. Chapter 19

1"What happened?" The voice that pulled him out of meditation was filled with ice, and it took him a moment to let reality reassert itself, remembering that everything wasn't perfect in the world. Remembering that he didn't have a training session with Remy to look forward to this evening, because everything between them had been royally screwed up. He opened his eyes to Ororo's stormy face.

"What happened where? When?" He asked, confused. The woman knew better than to pull him out of meditation with a question. At a shout for help or an angry threat he could jump from calm to alert in a second, but anything else took time.

"You and Remy went out two days ago, and today he is talking about not returning to us once his time at Leadenhall is done. What happened?"

_Oh that…_

"Perhaps he's just realised that there's nothin' for him here anymore." The look on Ororo's face was pure fury.

"How can you speak those words? We cannot simply throw him out of his home because he can no longer fight." Logan held his hands up, placating.

"I didn't mean it like that, 'Ro. Stop jumpin' down my throat."

"What precisely did you mean then?"

"I meant that he hates ta feel useless, an' if he's found something he can do someplace else maybe he'd rather be there than here." This seemed to assuage Ororo's anger for a moment, but a frown quickly replaced calm understanding.

"What happened that night that made him feel useless?" Logan flinched internally. He had really hoped Ororo wouldn't pick up on the flaw in his excuse.

"Look, what happened is between us, alright?" Logan responded, immediately on the defensive.

"So something did happen?" With great inner strength, Logan resisted grinding his teeth together as Ororo picked up on another unspoken implication.

"'Ro, the kid…" He flinched. "Remy's an adult. He has ta make his own choices."

"Not when that choice leaves him depressed. I will not have it."

"OK, look. I'll talk ta him, see if I can say anythin' ta cheer him up, find out what's goin' on. That satisfy ya?" Ororo held Logan's eyes for a moment, as though trying to read the answers there.

"What happened Logan? Just tell me that. I wish only to know which of Remy's demons we are battling here."

"We went out for a drink, he got plastered, I took him home."

"How drunk was he?" She persued.

"Pretty gone."

"And then?"

"I took him home and… some things were said that shouldn't have been. I left. And that's it." Ororo found his eyes again, boring into him as though she could find the truth hidden deep enough. Remy was a thick-skinned individual, a state of mind born of too many years of isolation. There were only a few things that could really offend him or hurt his feelings to the point that he would show his pain freely, even when he was intoxicated.

"Did you accuse him of manipulating your emotions?" Logan's eyes answered for him. Ororo threw her hands up in the air in an uncharacteristic show of anger. "How can you defend him against the others and then make the same accusations yourself? You know he is more emotional when he is drunk."

"First hand." Logan said under his breath.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked, hearing more than the implication that Logan often saw Remy drunk.

"I was too close when Remy fixed his shields back up. I've been connected ta his empathy since then, feelin' what he's feelin'."

"No wonder you've been so sensitive lately." Ororo nodded with new understanding.

"What d'ya mean, sensitive?"

"You have been showing an uncharacteristic amount of… of empathy towards Remy lately. Hank noticed it too, and we were both grateful. Remy does not have a lot of support at the mansion at the moment, and he needs it most now when he is so vulnerable. Logan... things will not go well for my brother if he is separated from our support now. Whether he will admit it or not, he needs us." Logan remained silent, but averted his eyes, filled with guilt. "If you are connected to his emotions, how would you know if he was manipulating you on purpose or accidentally?" Ororo asked after a moment's thought.

"I know it wasn't on purpose, he was drunk, he couldn't help how he was feeling. I just hated being dragged along for the ride. Neither of us knew what we were doing until…"

"Until what?" Logan didn't seem to hear Ororo's question, deep in thought.

"But I knew what I was doin'… I just wasn't…" Logan trailed off. "How do I know if it was what he wanted or what I wanted?"

"Logan, you're not making any sense." Ororo said softly, wondering whether Wolverine ranting was a bad sign.

"Ororo… Look, say I hated Scott."

"You do hate Scott, Logan." She told him warily.

"That's not the point, and no, I don't. Just… Imagine I hated Scott, and you were connected ta me, so because whenever Scott's around I'm hatin' him, you hate him too. But maybe ya hated Scott before I did, so I hate Scott because you hate him. How do we know which of us really hates Scott?"

"I don't hate Scott."

"Imagine, 'Ro, please."

"Well… if I saw him without you there, then I might know. But I might have learned to hate him, because you do. And then I hate him, despite not being the original… hater. So to speak."

"So it might still be my fault you hate him…" His brow crinkled.

"I think the real issue here is… do we have good reason to hate him?"

"Hate who?" Ororo looked up, still frowning as Scott looked around the doorframe curiously, having been drawn by the sounds of conversation.

"You." Scott looked a little taken aback at that.

"Who hates me?"

"We are trying to work out whether it is Logan or I." She answered blandly. Scott blinked, baffled.

"I love him." Logan decided quietly, standing with his mind still far away and still not acknowledging Scott's presence. Scott's eyes widened at this new statement, and he took a step back out of the room before asking.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't care if it's his or mine, because I don't feel him when I'm this far away from him, and I feel it anyway." With that, he walked out of the room, leaving Ororo and Scott staring at one another completely bewildered.

o

Logan knocked again, more heavily this time. He knew Remy didn't have classes, because this was the time of day they'd been using to train in the gym. When there was no response, he pressed his ear up against the door to listen inside. The sound of a hand on a door handle reached him, but he quickly realised that it wasn't Remy's door but the one next to it that was opening.

"Logan, that you?" He looked up to find Jamie at his door.

"Hey Jamie. I'm lookin' fer Remy."

"Damn, I'm glad to see you. Remy's been a miserable git the last few days. Figured you two got in a fight when you were both plastered the other day."

"Yeah, we fought. I need to apologise to him. D'ya know where he is?"

"He's out on the running track. Don't ask me where that is, though. I've never been down there."

"Thanks, I'll find it."

"No worries. And hey, good luck. You two make too sweet a couple to break up." A flash of a grin and the door was shut before Logan could correct him. Bemused, Logan made his way through the campus and out to where he had seen the athletics track on the way in.

He quickly found the track, but had to walk around the wire fencing that surrounded the area. Reaching the only gate in, he settled down to watch Remy through the chain links. There was a camping stove set up on each of the four corners of the track and the still afternoon meant that the flames were tall and unwavering. When Remy came to the sweeping corner of the track at a gentle run, he veered away to follow the track round, and Logan realised that he was using the heat flare of the flames to mark the points on the track where he needed to turn. There was another person stood by the track, patiently watching Remy run with a stopwatch in his hand.

With very little noise, Logan moved away from the gate and joined Remy on his next circuit. Remy just kept running as his supervisor started shouting.

"Thought ya hated track runnin'." Logan said as he matched his pace, ignoring the other man.

"Dere ain' anyone here who'll run out wit' me." Not many people could, Logan registered with a grimace. At 6'2, Remy's long-legged gait was enough to leave most people behind him after a few minutes. The supervisor who had initially tried to run after them was now sensibly waiting on the track for them to come back round, heaving for breath. Scott could probably match him - the man was an obsessive runner - but the leader of the X-men tended to prefer track. Perhaps they could convince him. But first things first. He stopped as they drew level with the waiting supervisor.

"You can't come in here!" He shouted, still a little out of breath. Logan glanced over as Remy continued to run. No help there. He popped his claws.

"Give us some privacy, will ya?" With fear written all over his face, the man bravely persevered.

"I can't let you threaten our students."

"I'm not threatening him, I'm threatening you." Logan growled. "Look, I just need ten minutes and I'm not gonna to hurt him. Ya can watch us if ya like." The man eyed the claws once more.

"Ten minutes then. I will be at the gate, and I will not hesitate to call security if you threaten him." He responded stiffly. Stopping Remy to talk to him as he passed on his next lap, the man made his way to the gate. Remy stood and waited for Logan to join him. Together they walked to the side of the track and sat on the grass.

"What do y' want Logan?" Remy asked when Logan didn't immediately explain why he had come.

"I've been thinking, and I've come to realise some things."

"Some…"

"Shut up." Remy shut up and Logan nodded his approval. "Now this link thing we've got between us goes both ways, right?" Remy nodded once. "So we don't really have any idea who feels what, only that we both ended up trying to jump each other's bones…"

"I've said I'm sorry, mon ami." Remy interrupted whatever Logan might have said. "What do you want from me?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and Logan realised that he was perhaps just a little afraid of what he might have to say.

"Now, ya see, this is where it gets mixed up. I had nothin' against what we were doin'." Remy hesitated, obviously not expecting that.

"Th' disgust was all yours, homme. It kinda speaks fo' y'." He retorted.

"I don't think it was. I don't think it was mine." Logan said quietly, keeping his eyes on Remy and trying to read his expression.

"What d'ya…?"

"You had many male lovers, Cajun?" He didn't wait for the reply. "Far as I can see it, yer shit-scared of male intimacy, and I ain't gonna ask ya why. But maybe yer a bit disgusted too. And ya caught that reflected off me, and ya pushed me away before I had a chance to straighten things out."

"I don'…"

"Shut up." Remy shut up again. "This link has been screwing with me big-time, cause I hate having people in my head almost as much as you do. But all the reactions I'm having are automatic. If anyone else tried to touch my mind like you have, I think I mighta tried to kill them. I don't want ta kill ya, Remy. Not at all. I'm actually getting ta like ya in my head." He held up a hand to silence the question that was on the tip of Remy's tongue. "And it's not a mirror of yer feelings, or some manipulation. I know because as soon as ya left the mansion it felt wrong, bein' without you in my mind. Felt empty."

"What are y' tryin' t' say?" Remy's voice was soft, and filled with an emotion Logan couldn't identify.

"Give me another chance, let me take it slow. I ain't got anything against us together Remy. That wasn't me. I… I think I might be fallin' in love with ya. The real you, the one ya don't let anyone see. The one that feels."

"I…" Remy bit his lip and turned away from Logan. "I can' talk about dis here. Come back t' my room."

Remy didn't take the arm Logan offered him on the way back, instead, he headed back over to where the supervisor stood, collecting his waterbottle and his stick from him. After reassuring the man that he would be fine with Logan, he headed back to his room. Logan followed, seeing the physical distance that Remy was putting between them and staying quiet.

He hesitated at the door to Remy's room when they arrived, waiting for some form of invitation. He was still half-expecting Remy to turn around and laugh in his face. To blame that night on drunkenness and need, and tell him to get a life.

"Come in, sit down. I need a shower... I'll be back." The words were clipped, blunt. He wasn't laughing, but Logan wasn't sure this was better, as he wandered over to the desk and chair in the corner. Remy disappeared out of the room with a bundle of clean clothes and Logan was left to wait.

Looking through a wedge of paper embossed with row upon row of raised dots, Logan tried to look for some kind of recognisable pattern. Giving up, he tried meditation to calm his racing mind. It was then that he was suddenly struck by the quietness in his mind. His only emotions his own. Thinking back to the track, the walk back to his room… Remy had shut him out.

o

"Ya shut me out." He hadn't been able to think of anything else in the time he had waited. Why would he do that? What was he trying to hide? Or was he simply bored of him, tired of sharing his headspace.

"Logan, I need to tell you something." Logan started a little at the blank accent-less voice he spoke with, as though there was something that needed saying that was too important to risk misunderstanding here.

Remy took a seat on the bed, shoulders tense and head bowed. If his posture wasn't enough, the clear-cut, unaccented voice - so nothing, so impossible to place - told him that he really needed to listen now, because this wouldn't be said twice.

"I… didn't have the best childhood. You know all about the guild, about Jean-Luc. It's hard to keep secrets in the mansion, but there aren't many people I've talked to about the time before that. Before I was taken in off the streets." Remy fell silent, and Logan watched him collect himself, until he was a little ball of focus and there was nothing to him but the words. "At first it felt like punishment for crimes I had inherited. I was the Devil's child, cast out on the streets and people were quick to explain to me all the things the Devil had done to the earth. In my mind, I was there to atone for his sins against God.

"It's a strange kind of religion you pick up on the streets. Nothing is ever quite explained to you, nothing is clear, and there is no one to ask questions. But it's real, very real. In many ways, more real than the religion you can learn in a church. The Devil was a man, in my mind, and an important man. No one told me my eyes were what made me his, so I thought I had been lost, and that was why I was on the streets. When someone told me they could send me back to him… I didn't hesitate, not even for a moment. Who wouldn't, when offered a chance to get back to their parents? I just didn't count on the way… he… he wanted to do it." A thick weight settled in Logan's throat as Remy's words caught - to sharp-edged to come out easily. He desperately wanted to reach out, to offer some form of reassurance in touch, but he sat still and waited for Remy to continue as he choked down the painful words.

"I was thrown back out on the streets, when he was done, so ripped up I couldn't move. I thought I was going to die, and I spent every minute looking for the devil. Hoping to see him. I would have died, but someone took me in, took me to a doctor. They didn't look at my eyes, or if they did, they didn't care. As soon as I was conscious I was turned back out. I didn't even get their names. It happened again, later. A couple of times. I thought I was going to die every time. Sometimes I wished I would. Get it over with, and I still thought I might finally get to meet him. But I just couldn't let go."

'You were too strong.' The words were on the tip of Logan's tongue, but he didn't dare speak, for fear of interrupting the stream of words it was obviously costing Remy an awful lot to say. He swallowed the words down, and instead tried to emote strength, knowing that even if he couldn't feel Remy's emotions any more, the empath was more than likely feeling Logan's.

"When Jean-Luc found me, when he took me back to a house filled with men… I thought I would drop dead from fear. But he said… he said…"

_The Devil will not reach you here. I will be your father now._

Remy's face went blank as he turned away, his mind lost in his past. Logan didn't need his heightened senses to know he was crying heavy salt tears. His heart was a solid thing in his throat and he had never felt more like a monster.

"I shut y' out of m' mind b'cause I didn' wan' f' y' t' feel dis." The accent back, Remy's voice was heavy with grief and made hesitant by tears. "It was my fault, an' I'm sorry I brought y' int' all dis shit. I jus'…"

"Don't ya say another word. Stop damn well apologising for somethin' that wasn't yer fault. I'll… I'll go." Logan flinched as his voice broke, and he stood unsteadily, backing towards the door.

"I don' wan' y' to." Logan froze, with his hand on the doorhandle.

"What?" His voice sounded weak in his own ears, disbelieving.

"I don'… I don't want y' t' go. I don' understan' it… But… I wan' t' try dis wit' y', Logan. I do… but dere are t'ings about me dat I ain' never told a soul. Dat was one of dem. I migh' not be able t' do dis wit' you." He shook his head. "F'get it, go on. Y' don' want any part of dis."

"Don't tell me what I don't want." He forced down anger borne of confusion, forcing softness into his voice. "Ya want me ta stay, I'll stay."

"I don' need y' pity." Bitter anger put an edge on those words.

"I don't do pity, Remy. I don't want ta leave, but I didn't think ya needed me around, takin' ya back ta all that shit."

"Stay." A whisper of a smile meant the world to Logan's shaky courage.

"Thank you."

"So." Rough hands scrubbed away watery stains. "You an' me, huh?" The room was a chasm between them, but those few words, and Remy's soft smile were a bridge across, and Logan had never felt stronger.


	20. Chapter 20

Logan was sat with one arm wrapped around Remy's waist, holding him as he shuddered with a cold that came not from outdoors, but from the past. Remy was still sat on his bed, but he had pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He was rocking back and forth absently.

Logan forced himself not to react when Remy flinched away violently, pulling back into the corner of the bed. He held his place at the side of the bed, not making any move and waiting for Remy to acknowledge his presence. He knew what it was to get lost in memory, and the memories that he had brought up - his fault, damn it - weren't memories he wanted Remy reliving. Only patience would bring him out of this without adding to the trauma. Logan waited.

There was the faintest brush of a mind touching his, a shudder down his spine. He wouldn't have known what it was if he hadn't spent the last few months connected to that feeling in the most intimate of ways. He moved across the bed, reaching out to touch Remy's shoulder - the most innocent of touches, with as little threat as he could manage.

"Hey, Remy. Come back to me." Remy leant into his touch as Logan pulled him closer, until his head rested on Logan's shoulder and his arm reached almost automatically around his waist, tangling in his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

"Hey." He murmured, grasping Remy's free hand with his own. "You back with me now?" Remy shuddered heavily.

"Oui."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Why y' doin' dis, Logan?" Remy's voice was distant and subdued, and pulled more strongly at Logan's heart than any shared emotion of the last few months. "Why y' doin' dis for Remy?"

"Thought I explained that already. I care fer ya, Remy. I don't care what that means fer you or me, I just want ya to know it."

"How can y' be sure? Sometimes I'm not sure I didn' make somet'in' happen. I can' say f' sure I didn' do dis."

"Even if ya did, this is how I feel now. I can't think of any good reason not ta feel like this fer you, and I can think of a whole load of reasons why I should." Remy closed his eyes at this admission, fighting back tears. Why couldn't he move past it? Why couldn't he give in to this tidal wave of emotion? Why did they always stand in his way?

"Talkin' about dem… It gives dem strength. Sometimes it's hard t' break free." Pulling the blanket up from the bed to wrap around their shoulders, Logan thought about that.

"Do ya feel stronger after?" He asked, thinking of Xavier's words to him when he had first talked about what he knew of his past - you don't get over traumatic events by hiding them away inside you. He had dismissed it as quack bullshit back then, but he was desperate for some way to make this right.

"I don' know, maybe." Remy didn't sound stronger, he sounded tired. Logan went to trace the dark smudges that outlined Remy's eyes, pulling back when Remy flinched away from his touch.

"Sorry." A plea as much as an apology. Logan turned his attention to the darkening sky outside the window, fighting back angry tears of his own. He wondered how it had gotten so late without their noticing.

"Why don't ya lie down fer a minute." He spoke up after he had collected himself again. "Maybe you'll feel better after some sleep." Remy nodded in vague assent, his mind obviously still far away. Shifting so that Remy could lie flat on the bed without releasing his hold, Logan rubbed gentle circles on his back until he stilled.

Waiting another few minutes, until he was sure that Remy was sleeping, Logan relaxed himself and pulled away, trying to take some perspective on what had just happened.

He had come with an admission he felt sure would be dismissed or laughed at by the womanising Cajun, only to be entrusted with a dark secret that he had disturbed with his clumsy show of drunken affection. A secret that should have crushed all his hopes more surely than laughter would have. He might have preferred laughter to this horrendous truth. Yet, despite it all, Remy wanted to try. Wanted to risk everything on the hope that Logan could be gentle. That he wouldn't hurt him like the other men had. And trusted him enough to fall asleep at his side, despite what had happened - the thought struck him heavily. Remy trusted him. More than he'd ever known.

It was a little much to absorb to say the least.

He slid down so that he was sat on the floor beside the bed, one hand still loosely entangled with Remy's and balanced awkwardly on the bed behind him. He found himself studying that hand as his mind wandered, taking in the softening pink scars across his fingers, the pale skin that pulled tight across his index finger to resist that last bit of movement. As Remy relaxed further and rolled onto his back, his grip loosening further, Logan turned to the palm to find the scars there much reduced, already worn down in daily use.

"Is that what I've got ta do? Wear away the scars?" He was talking to himself, needing to say the words out loud to settle them in his own mind. He kept his senses trained on Remy for any sign of him waking. "These ain't scars, they're open wounds." He sneered to himself. "And who's fault is that, huh?" He sighed. "How the hell did ya hide this from everyone?" He quickly answered his own question with a startled revelation. "Ya slept with women. Lots of women. And ya flirted with all the men. It's all a cover." He was suddenly looking at Remy in a whole new way. He had fooled them all. "Oh Remy."

o

"Logan?" His eyes flickered open.

"I'm here." He answered softly, still sat where he had fallen asleep at the side of Remy's bed. A sigh, and the creak of the bed as Remy laid back down.

"Why?" A weighted question, though Logan had no idea where it was weighted.

"Because ya asked me ta stay?" He hazarded. Another sigh, almost a laugh. The sound soothed Logan's heart, and he turned to look at Remy.

"Non… why… why you after all dis time?"

"Perhaps I was just in the right place at the right time?"

"Or the wrong place." Remy muttered under his breath.

"Maybe it would have been earlier if you didn't keep your emotions so caged in all the time." Logan retorted. Remy paused uncertainly, something unreadable in his eyes. The moment passed, and Remy seemed to withdraw, his lips pursed. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, their own thoughts sitting like a weight between them.

"Sometimes…" Remy stumbled into silence again. He almost visibly gathered himself. "Sometimes I wonder if I would still be attracted to men if it wasn't for them. Whether I would have ended up like this if I hadn't been for… without that experience." Logan's mind stalled as Remy's words sank in. 'Is he attracted to me because I'm like them? I'm the only type of man he knows in that way.' This spoken truth sat between them as each sought a way to move past this moment, each moment of silence cementing the uncertainty.

Remy wondered if speaking his fear had ruined his bond with Logan forever - whatever his kind words and platitudes the night before. To him, the silence and uncertainty he could feel in his mind were symptoms of the same thing - Logan couldn't be attracted to him now that he knew the reason why Remy was attracted to him. Logan couldn't live with him if he was going to be such hard work. Logan couldn't love him if he wasn't sure he could love him back.

To Logan, Remy's silence spoke of fear, and his scent spoke of confusion. Did he fear him now? Were his words meant to placate? To keep Logan from the quick anger he was known for? Would leaving wordlessly help, or deepen that fear? Should he try and reassure him? He dismissed both ideas. Either could be taken as a refusal of his brave offer, and if there was any chance that offer was true Logan wanted to cling to it.

If it were true…

All thoughts coming to a dead end, Logan did the only thing he could think to do. He packaged the last few days away in his mind to process later, and acted like nothing had happened.

"I had an idea about the parallel bars."

o

Logan let Remy warm up as he went over to take a look at the parallel bars. They were attached at each end to the posts that supported them, and those in turn, were bolted to flat weights on the ground that stopped the bars shifting as the gymnast threw their weight about. The uprights had a series of points up the length at which the bars could be attached - allowing the equipment to be adjusted for different skill levels and heights. The points only went half way down though, to the height of the youngest and smallest user, and Remy was more likely to hurt himself falling from there than falling from the setting that matched his own height. Before Antarctica, Remy had always used the top setting on this kind of equipment, where even he needed a springboard to mount the bars, but that was simply impossible as he was. He needed too much information about his surroundings to be able to hit the board in the right place, make the jump and then catch the bars, and he was in a situation where any misstep could mean serious injury.

Logan glanced back at Remy in time to see him roll into a handstand in the center of the mat, a soft frown betraying how much the weight on his right hand still hurt him, before turning his attention back to the bars. Inspiration caught him, and he started dismantling the equipment. He was pulling the uprights out of their weighted casings when Remy finished his warmup and started making his way over to him.

Logan looked over long enough to make sure he was skirting the pit and the horse that was between them, spending a moment thinking on the conundrum of Remy's confidence - in his stride, his gesture, his posture - while they were in here and how he could begin to draw it out of him while he was elsewhere. Getting him drunk was one way, though that had had other less predictable results. Satisfied that Remy had acknowledged the path he needed to take, Logan turned back to his task.

"What are y' plannin'?" Remy asked curiously.

"Just an idea." He answered evasively as he spun the upright over and fastened it upside down in its casing.

"Are y' takin' apart th' bars?" Remy asked, his curiosity unquenched.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Wait an' y'll find out." Remy slumped down onto the mats, watching Logan's heated form shift about. It was cold in the hall, so he stood out more dramatically than usual, and so did the young student and her coach who were stood at the door watching curiously.

"Whatever y' doin' - it's drawin' an audience." Logan didn't comment. Ignoring the other two, Remy brought his senses to focus on Logan. Faint hazes of motion were things that he was moving about - the parts of the parallel bars if his guess was right. The material was as cold as the room, but movement gave it a little kinetic warmth that faded as soon as Logan put it in place, handprints made by the warmth of his hands rapidly fading on the surface.

"Right. Done." Remy pulled back with a grimace as Logan flared into his line of 'sight', his body heat hugely bright compared to the tiny amounts he had been focusing on.

"Done what?"

"Come look." Remy's face darkened, but before he could state the obvious Logan caught hold of his hand and pulled him across the mats, pushing down on his shoulder to encourage him to kneel where he placed him.

"Logan… what…?"

"Look."

"I can't…" Remy ground out, his words halted suddenly when Logan grabbed hold of his hand roughly and put it on the bar that was now barely higher than his hip as he knelt on the ground.

"Learn ta do without. Things ain't ever gonna get easier until ya can accept that this is how you are now, and move on."

"Yeah, dat's easy f' you t' say."

"I'm doin' all I can." Remy bit back another sharp retort and sat back on his heels, sighing.

"'M sorry." He shook his head, closing his hand more solidly around the bar Logan had shown him and then reaching out to find the other on his right. "Y' dropped them?"

"Yeah, figured it'd be a bit safer fer what I want ta try."

"Y' still not gon' tell me y' idea are y'?" Remy smiled, finding the centre of the two bars with his hands and settling himself between them. "Y' sure dey're solid?"

"I'm sure." With a nod, Remy folded himself into a handstand on the widely spaced bars, his body perfectly straight from toe to crown. Holding the position until he was forced to give in to the strain and come back down, Remy knelt between the bars again and waited for Logan's idea.

It seemed to take Logan a moment to realise that Remy was waiting for him, and Remy smiled at the hint of embarrassment he could feel as Logan tried to cover up his drifting attentions.

"Let's get ya back to one-handed, and fer now I'll just watch ya back down." He said, his voice filled with a smile. Remy needed to be comfortable in the one-handed handstand before his plan would work, and though he was already comfortable again on the ground, the bars made the position more difficult to achieve.

It didn't take him long to get back into the movement, strength already returning through the training he'd been doing at Leadenhall. When Remy was satisfied he could get into the position without too many attempts, he took a seat between the bars again and waited for Logan's instructions.

"How much of yer surroundings do ya take in while yer up there? Can ya see movement?" Logan asked.

"I used t' be able to. Let me dodge t'ings even when I was doin' somet'in' else." Remy shrugged. "'S not somet'in' I've tried recently."

"OK, now's the time to try it. Up again, and this time yer droppin' back onta the pole, alright?" Remy frowned, but nodded, accepting that Logan's plan would either become clear or that the man would catch him when he missed the landing again.

Pushing up into the strained position took no less than complete control, every muscle straining to hold him there.

There was a sound of metal ringing on metal, and the noise almost distracted him enough to break his tenuous control over his body, but Logan's plan was suddenly very clear. To one side of him the bar was literally vibrating with kinetic energy as it recoiled from the blow. He dropped onto it perfectly, body following straight to the floor to take the weight of his body off his right hand.

He was grinning widely when Logan pulled him into a hug, his claws already withdrawn.

"We'll get ya back up there, Rems. Just you wait."

o

"Hey 'Ro." He greeted Ororo as she approached from the garden. He could tell without looking that she'd been gardening. She was filled with the kind of peace that only nature gave her, and it spilled into the room around her.

"Have you talked with Remy?" She demanded tersely.

"Yes." He turned and met her eyes, let her see everything that his own held. She smiled gently.

"Then I will leave you to your meditation."

"Hey 'Ro." He called after her. She looked back expectantly. "He might need someone to talk to? We're goin' out trainin' after his lessons tomorrow, but…"

"I will see him this afternoon." She nodded.

"And 'Ro." She hesitated again, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"You are very welcome, my friend."


	21. Chapter 21

Ororo smiled as a groggy looking Cajun answered the door that afternoon in crumpled jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. Being sent back to 'school' hadn't changed his propensity for late nights and even later mornings.

"It is good to know that some things will never change." She greeted him wryly. Ignoring his disgruntled snort, she followed him into his room. The curtains were open, but it seemed more than likely they hadn't been shut than Remy had been up early enough to open them. He collapsed into a chair with comfortable accuracy and Ororo settled herself in front of him patiently, perching on the edge of a table. They sat in comfortable silence in this way for a time, but Storm's patience was infinitely longer than Remy's and she knew it.

"Y' call jus' t' get me outta bed on m' only day off?" He griped.

"Ah, the life of a student." She teased. "No, I had need to speak with you, and since I have only a few hours in my day to spare and I have been up since dawn, I came now."

"M' sorry, Stormy. Jus' din' sleep very well las' night is all."

"More nightmares?"

"Non… for once." Remy smiled softly. "Had a lot t' t'ink about. Lot of t'ings changed over th' las' few days."

"Are you still thinking about leaving the mansion?" Ororo asked tentatively.

"I… I'm not sure anymore." Remy's expression dropped briefly. "I haven't thought about it."

"If that was not what was on your mind, what was?" Ororo asked, startled. " I thought Logan had come to talk you out of the idea."

"You sent him? T' talk t' me th' ot'er day?" Remy couldn't help but grin. "Have I ever tol' you how much I love you?" He jumped up and pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Well… I'm glad you are happy." She observed, a little bemused. "I had thought you might be annoyed with me, for interfering." Remy laughed out loud at that, a short joyful sound that made Ororo think of better times, when they had the run of their city and did things because they were fun. An old-minded child and a young-minded adult.

"'Ro." Remy reined in his laughter, grinning. "My 'Ro." He pulled her close again, and then let her take the chair, taking a step back to balance on the table's edge. "Do you know what Logan came to talk to me about?"

"He came to apologise for what he said when you were both drunk the other day." Ororo replied, confused again, but still smiling at Remy's obvious enthusiasm and good spirits. "He wanted to tell you something else… about Scott maybe?" She guessed. Remy seemed baffled.

"Scott… no, we din' talk about Scott." Ororo thought about the confusion of words and questions that Logan had exchanged with her before he had left, and the look in his eyes this morning. A little belatedly, she started putting things together. "'Ro… Logan an' I… we're…" The deep blush that Ororo was sure she had never seen before was almost as endearing as the stuttered attempt at an admission. She decided to save him before he hurt himself.

"I have never heard you speak this falteringly of a fledgling relationship before." Remy spluttered, wide eyed, for a moment before gathering himself.

"Not exac'ly my normal style, neh?" He replied with an inarticulate shrug, tension showing in every movement.

"And yet I don't think I've ever seen you so… animated over any of your previous involvements, Remy." Ororo's smile was threatening to take over her regal face as she watched emotions she had never before been privileged enough to witness scatter themselves over Remy's face. She wondered if Logan knew just how he was making the poor boy feel, or indeed if even Remy knew the full extent of it.

"I t'ink, maybe dis is important… f' me." He frowned, and Ororo could tell he was annoyed at his own inability to express himself. "He makes me strong, 'Ro. I din' t'ink I'd feel strong again… 'specially not now." There was a hesitation in those words, and Ororo knew what he meant by the vague comment - all his fears and vulnerabilities had been magnified by the darkness that had surrounded him in sight and mind since the events in Antarctica.

"I still do not know what I can possibly do to redeem myself regarding the events that passed in Antarctica."

"Tell me y' happy f' us, an' I'll f'give you." Remy replied with a sad smile.

"If only it were that simple. But I am happy for you, Remy, so happy. You deserve someone to make you strong."

--

"Come on, focus." The handsprings were simple in this environment, with soft mats beneath him, no obstacles, no targets and nothing to avoid or deflect. No kinetic distractions. He'd done the movements a hundred times before, on the edges of buildings where the drop would surely kill him, and in the face of his enemies to avoid attacks on his very life. Now all he needed to do was to cover the distance across the mat, and he was finding it impossible. "One more time, alright?" Logan was a perfect outline at this distance, his movement and body heat making him bright in Remy's vision. The distance was six meters, and with two paces for momentum, about a metre each, he would have to extend the spring to make the last four, but it wasn't beyond his abilities. The trick was getting it right. Before, his accuracy in all things had depended on an awareness of precisely where everything was around him. With one glance he would know a room inside out and could have hand-springed off every stable bit of furniture in the place with his eyes closed. But he needed that first look. Without it, the thought was impossible.

Four metres to do the move. If his pace was a metre long… he would need to cover twice that distance in the air before his hands went down, that was two metres, and then the same again for the landing. He tried to process that into an image of the distance in his mind. How many times had they done this in his training - it seemed so long ago - picture a room, with a jewel in its centre… He took a deep breath and gathered his focus on that image. In his mind there was nothing but a six-metre square with four marks on it: foot, foot, hand, foot. The paces were precise and measured, giving just enough power to the move that followed, not an inch more, not an inch less. His weight went down a little heavily on his right wrist - he'd been too focused on the distances to think about transferring his weight - and it shortened the following move, if only by an inch. He landed perfectly, light as a feather and with barely a sound.

"Shit." He hissed. "An inch! A fucking inch and I would have had it!" Logan snorted, and Remy glared at him - a little off centre, Logan noticed, but he was certainly improving. "What are y' laughin' at?" Logan said nothing, but his humour escalated to a snigger. "What? I know I missed it." Remy insisted, not willing to be fooled.

"Yeah, ya know you missed it." Logan repeated through a grin, waiting for Remy to catch on. Remy's smile finally caught and grew.

"Yeah."

"Now ya need ta be able ta do that everywhere." Remy's smile faltered for a moment. "But that's somethin' fer tomorrow's session, right? Time ta get back."

--

"Stormy came t' see me dis mornin'." Remy told Logan as he gathered his possessions into his satchel. Logan handed him a pile of clothes from the drawers and watched as he crumpled them into the bag. "Tol' her what was goin' on, 'tween us. T'ink she mighta known anyway, but I wanted t' tell her, y'know?"

"So what did she say?" Logan asked tentatively.

"T'ink she was happy f' us." Remy paused, as if thinking through their conversation again, and then nodded once and continued packing. Logan absorbed every little gesture and movement, learning the man in every moment that they spent together. Shaking himself out of his daze, he moved to gather the remaining clothes out of the drawers and handed them over, watching them follow the others into packed disarray. "Dere anyt'in' else?" Remy asked, pulling open drawers at random and running his hand along the bottom.

"Don't think so." With a sigh, Remy dropped onto his bed in a slouch. Taking a seat next to him, Logan wrapped an arm around Remy and let him slump onto his shoulder.

"Dis is nice." Remy murmured with a smile, shuffling to one side so that he wasn't so twisted.

"Yeah." Logan snorted to himself.

"What?" Remy demanded with a smile, happy to absorb Logan's good humour.

"Think how many people are gonna have heart attacks when we get back to the mansion." Remy's smile faltered a little.

"Are y' sure y'…"

"Don't say it." Logan interrupted. "Just don't."

" I was just…"

"I know what 'you were just', and I don't need it. I've made my decision, an' I'm sticking by it. I'm sticking by you, Remy." With a soft sigh, Remy slumped down until he was laying in Logan's lap, bringing his feet up to rest over his bag and off the end of the bed.

"It's gon'be hard movin' back in. Gotta get used t' th' house again, work out where ev'ryt'in' is wit'out makin' a fool of m'self." He shuddered.

"No one's gonna care what ya do, they're just gonna be glad yer home." Remy snorted.

"Maybe not when they realise I got no way t'earn my keep."

"No one's ever asked ya to earn yer keep."

"Dey never had to."

"And they still won't. Ya just have ta accept that yer one of us, and we ain't gonna turn you out fer somethin' that wouldn't of happened if it weren't fer us."

"Did y' not see Rogue? I did that t' her, made her int' that."

"Don't ever believe that." Logan's voice dropped, dead serious. "Xavier looked inta that kid's head when she first got here, and he ain't ever looked since. That man lives by the phrase: 'keep you friends close and your enemies closer'. Why else do you think he harbours some of the strongest mutants in the world when it's obvious that it's the weak ones that need protectin'? He's protectin' the rest of the world from us. I bet he coulda helped Rogue if he'd tried, but he never did. Never even tried. Because then she woulda been free ta go out inta the world. He wanted her close, wanted ta watch her." Remy's face grew pinched and he sat up, the motion putting a distance between them and taking him out of the reach of Logan's arm.

"I can't believe that."

"Why not?"

"Because den I'd have t' hate Rogue, and I don' t'ink I can do that." The thickness in Remy's voice infected Logan's throat too, and he moved to put his arm around him again.

"There's nothin' wrong with hatin' someone, even if… ya still love her." Remy pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling a sob. "Ya can't keep this bottled up forever, Rems, ya have to let it out." With a series of deep breaths, Remy brought himself back under control, falling back into Logan's arm as though he had exhausted himself.

"Why'd he let me fall so hard… if he knew…?"

"I don't think there was anythin' he coulda done about it, Rems. Maybe he thought you might of been able ta save her."


	22. Chapter 22

Logan had expected many things for Remy's return to the mansion, but with the scene unfolding in the main hallway of the mansion, he could have been forgiven for thinking nothing had happened at all in the last few months. Remy was striding down the corridor, Jean on one arm, Ororo on the other, laughing and joking and generally creating noise.

Standing off to one side to avoid the fracas, Logan watched them advance like a marching band. They proceeded with overemphasised footsteps, jostling and bumping as it became obvious that the hallway wasn't wide enough for all three of them beyond a certain point. With bright laughter as the women he was sandwiched between fought over which of them should continue, Remy escaped from both their arms and moved quickly - if a little hesitantly – to stand beside Logan, grasping his arm.

"Save me, Wolvie!" he mock-cried.

"Hell no. I'm not getting involved," Logan laughed in reply.

"Remy, we have to do upstairs yet!" Jean called from across the hall, held back by Ororo's hand on her wrist. Storm watched the men's interaction from a distance, a knowing grin gracing her features.

"They helping ya map the grounds?" Logan asked Remy, still grinning at the image of them  
all parading down the hall.

"Yeah, suppos'dly," Remy replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Ya gonna need more help?"

"Not now, dey'll be offended." He grimaced. "Maybe later?" he appealed, a tone of voice that sounded odd without eye contact.

"Sure. Now go play nice with the girlies. I'll see you later." Remy stepped away with as much confidence as he could muster to rejoin the women.  
-  
-  
Logan stepped out of the TV room, the barely-audible footsteps all he needed to recognise Remy on the stairs. The Cajun's pace was a little slower, perhaps more cautious than usual, but little else had changed. He still exuded cheery arrogance and self- confidence, and Logan wondered - not for the first time - how much of that was automatic, designed to mask any real emotion that might leak out of his empathic abilities. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and Remy quickly joined him. Stepping off the last step and then hesitating - as though he had been counting the steps to the ground and been distracted - Remy sighed, leaning back against the banister and grinning. "Hey."

"How'ya doin'?"

"I'm okay, I t'ink." He laughed shortly. "Bin a busy day. Din' help I spend all day marchin' 'round like 'm in a brass band."

Logan grinned. "So - if they were doin' it wrong, how do I do it right?"  
-  
-  
Scott stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Remy walked purposefully around the mansion with Logan at his elbow marking points and pointing out obstacles. It was a process that he remembered despising from that time so long ago when it had been Hank guiding him and the mansion had been a huge frightening space, less like home than the streets he had walked before. The memory was almost physical in its intensity. He took a seat on the step at the top of the hall to watch and think. He knew what Remy was doing - touching every surface and edge not just to avoid walking into it, but to use it as a pointer to the next place. The space became a network of points, and straight lines joining each one. Touch this cabinet and walk parallel to it to reach this sofa or come through the door on the left and touch this sideboard and the sink was on your left, the hob on your right, another door on the far left back into the hall. Seeing them begin to work their way back around to the stairs, Scott pulled himself back together and headed off to bed, needing the presence of his wife to soothe away old fears.  
-  
-  
Taking a seat in the empty rec. room to let himself absorb the information - knowing it would take a few mistakes before everything was fully settled in his mind. With a sigh, Remy leant into the warmth of Logan's presence beside him.

"T'ank y'."

Logan snorted. "Like I woulda let anyone else do it."

Remy chuckled. "It's… reassuring, doin' dis wit' y'. It's worse somehow, somewhere 'm s'pposed t' already know. Jus' remin's me how stupid I was."

"How's that?"

"Not learnin' th' floorplan when I firs' got here. Mon pere… he would be disgusted how lazy I was. Jus'… truly never t'ought I'd have t' use dose skills. Never bin in a situation dat I couldn' see 'xactly where everyt'in' was."

"Ya seem ta be doin' alright. Ya know I expected ya t' drift a bit, towards yer dominant foot."

"I grew up walkin' tightropes and slacklines 'cross rooftops in de middle o' th' night. Y' learn not t' drift." Remy laughed. "Lapin - dat's my cousin - he got hit by a bird once, when he was jus' learnin' - we still had safety lines den, t' catch us. We always tol' him he was jus' so good dat even th' birds didn' see him." Logan smiled.

"You've never told me… told any of us anything like that before. About when you were a kid." Remy tensed a little, but held his smile.

"An' it's not f' repeatin', neh? Less everyone knows 'bout de guild de better."

"But you'd tell me?"

"I trust y'. Am I right to?"  
-  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------  
-  
He could do this with his eyes shut. Had done it with his eyes shut before now. But this was different. There was no peeking if things got tense. The mission planning had originally placed Xavier in position as communications hub between the two teams, but he had not returned from the meeting he'd been attending - putting his rescue as a possible second mission of the night if they heard nothing in the interim. Scott's fastidiously- planned mission had a place for every member of the two teams, and without Rogue and with Warren still under Hank's watchful eye there wasn't room for a whole lot of manoeuvring of personnel. On the spur of the moment Scott had asked Remy.

It had possibly been as much a shock to everyone else as to Remy, on his first night back in the mansion and his capabilities pretty much untested, but he had been quick to accept the request, taking only a moment to prove to Scott that he knew exactly where everything was in the control room and making sure they left before Scott could change his mind. But now, sitting here with a whole array of buttons in front of him and only his memory to rely on in finding them all, Remy was beginning to feel delayed panic setting in. Why had he accepted, what was he thinking? Every X-man's life was on the line every time they left the mansion. What had he been thinking?

He ran his fingers over the buttons and switches on the console in front of him, listing the names in his head and forcing down his doubts. Scott was leading one group and Storm the other, so the two most important switches were side by side on his right. The general open channel was on his left, a round button as opposed to the stick switches for the individual communicators. Activating the comm. systems and the tracking systems with a practice-easy gesture, Remy settled back to wait. There was a confirmatory beep as the Blackbird came online and began firing up.

"Comms. ready. Y' good t' go." he told Jean, who he knew would be sitting beside Scott at the Blackbird's comms. station. With the quiet "acknowledged" in reply, Remy switched on the Blackbird's internal microphones to listen to the ship take off. The room was filled with the quiet banter of his teammates, a testament to the ever-present nervousness before any mission. There would be no sign of it by the time they touched down.

.  
"No leaving anyone behind on this mission, guys," Scott joked from the front.

"Not even Bobby?" came Warren's light-hearted reply.

"OK, maybe Bobby," Jean answered into Scott's exasperated silence.  
-  
-  
The mission was simple. Three mutants were being held for an upcoming auction being held by a front company called Youki Global. The company had been using freelance bounty hunters to collect mutants and make profits selling them to anyone who would bid - be they slaver, scientist or psycho. They had been watching the compound where they knew the mutants were being held, but so far had had no luck pinning down the organisers, or any of the backing for the on-the-side criminal activity. Scott was loath to attack the company itself without any real evidence, but they had to get the captive mutants out before they were sold.

The compound looked like a miniaturised prison, with snipers and spotlights on every corner and one single intimidating building in the centre. There was a signal-dampening field over the entire area, but the communications equipment at the mansion was strong enough to cut through it. This meant that any communication between the X-Men would have to be either verbal or relayed via the mansion's main communications system instead of through the Blackbird's systems on the ground. One team would be going in from the north - taking out the two spotlight towers on that side on their way in – and the other from the south. The south team - lead by Storm - would head for the roof of the building and clear any remaining resistance from there while the north team – led by Scott - would head into the building for the captives.

Remy found himself holding his breath as the two teams disembarked, quickly splitting off and spreading into the undergrowth or taking to the air. He'd run through the communicators while the team had been in the jet, checking each name off against the list in his memory and making sure everyone had a working comm. unit. With communications as they were they needed to make sure they could all contact the mansion as needed.

"Relay to Cyclops. Team 2 in place and awaiting go ahead." Storm's voice.

"From Storm, Team 2 in place," Remy quickly relayed across.

"To Storm. Move in."

"From Cyke, move in." The process was arduous, but it was a way around the complications of being completely out of contact with anyone else on the team at any point, something Scott was becoming quite phobic of with his X-Men dropping like flies.

Remy waited in the silence as the teams moved in. He would have no idea what was going on without opening a channel - something he couldn't do without distracting the X-Man in question.

He knew that Angel would be taking out the spotlights from above for his team, and Psylocke would be doing the same for hers as the others moved in to disarm the men guarding those towers. Jean and Bobby would take out the men guarding the roof, then Scott and Logan would take out the guards that stood between them and the main doors and they would enter the building. Jean, Warren and Storm would stay in the air, looking out for…

"To Gambit, confirm status of Angel." Storm's voice interrupted his train of thought.

"Angel, confirm status," Remy relayed, almost before he had gotten over the shock of hearing his codename for the first time in… why wasn't Wings responding?

"Nothing from Ange, Storm." he replied quickly, before switching channels back and trying again. "Angel, respond." He flicked all four team switches. "Blue team, someone confirm where Angel is."

"I don't see him," Jean replied quickly.

"I see him, he's down." Bobby's voice, breathless. Nothing for a moment and then; "We're out of sight, and safe. But… I really think we need Hank out here."

"Angel's down an' safe wit' Iceman, Storm. He's requested Hank."

"Get him out here," Storm confirmed quickly.

"Angel's down. Iceman's askin' f' Hank out dere," he told Scott and Hank simultaneously.

"Wait." Came the terse command from Scott and everything stopped as the channels closed, leaving Remy in silence once again. Remy's pulse was racing as he waited, and he almost jumped as Hank's voice cut in.

"Relay to Bobby. I'm on my way, I need a location." Remy quickly passed the information on to Bobby and the location back to Hank and seconds later, Scott's voice.

"Relay to Storm, hostages are safe, pull out as soon as we have confirmation that Angel can move."

"From Cyke, hostages are safe, pull out when Ange is ready."

"To Cyclops. We're pulling out now. Stay safe." Remy relayed the message and sat back with a sigh of relief.

"Gambit." Remy jumped up in his seat and took a minute to find Hank's switch, cursing himself.

"Beast," he replied.

"We're coming in hot with Warren. I need a code kit and a gurney in the hanger and things set up in the infirmary. Can you do it?"

"Oui." He confirmed. "Is everyone out of radio quiet?"

"Yes. We're on our way." Remy hit the open channel.

"Comms. on auto." He confirmed.

"Thanks Gambit," Jean confirmed, back on the communications console in the jet.  
-  
-  
Remy hurried down the corridor, counting doors because he knew he wasn't going to have a minute to spare. He flicked all the lights on as he hit the infirmary, following the wall left around the infirmary until he reached the big blue alarm button on the wall. Beneath it was the box with the code kit inside. Lifting it awkwardly – the action taking away the use of his hands as guides, he moved across the room until he kicked a gurney and put the box down on it. Circling the bed he took off the brake and pushed it forward towards the door. There was a crash of something metallic falling and, swearing, he circled the bed again until he came up against a metal implements tray. Kicking it out of the way he changed tactic, going to the front of the bed and pulling it instead. It took him a minute to get the bulky bed properly lined up with the door and then through it into the corridor outside so that it would be ready to run to the hanger once the lab was set up.

There was a basic kit and a simple stretcher in the hanger prepared for emergencies, but when Hank had someone back at the mansion to do the running around, he liked to have the gurney there waiting for him. It meant he didn't have to move the patient around so much, and the hallways were more than wide enough to accommodate the gurney.

He hesitated when it came to pulling out dressing and implements trays, wracking his brain to try and remember the shape and size of the two Hank always wanted out when he was coming back in with a code. One had a green label, the other a blue. The red, yellow and black were for other things, but none of that helped him right now. In the end he pulled out one of each of the stacks, knowing that even having them on the bench with the others would be easier for Hank than having to pull them out of the cupboard himself. Flicking on the last two lights and the oxygen pump, Remy grabbed hold of the gurney and ran towards the hanger.

He hesitated outside the door to the huge bay where the Blackbird usually resided, realising it had been a long time since he'd been down here, and last time there had been bits of the other Bird all over the floor. He stepped just inside the doorway tentatively and pulled the trolley in. When the Blackbird arrived he'd worry about getting to Hank, until then he was sticking with the safe option.

He didn't have long to wait.  
-  
-  
Remy sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase, waiting for news. The whirlwind that was an injured teammate had passed him at speed and he had moved out of the way, knowing there wasn't anything more he could do to help and he was just going to get in the way if he didn't move. He looked up as the lift started to hum, and its movement lit it brightly.

"He okay?" Remy asked Logan almost before the door to the lift was fully open.

Logan only sighed in reply, wandering over to sit beside Remy on the bottom step.

"Not really. Hank's worried."

"What happened?"

"He had another heart attack," Logan answered. "He's probably not gonna be back on the team after this, even if he pulls through. His body can't handle it anymore." Remy fell quiet.

"Shit."

"Yeah."


	23. Chapter 23

Remy woke shaking and hyperventilating, a face imprinted on his mind. Every time it was the same face, some emotion seen there calming him from his panic, only to strike him down in the darkness. Take him, struggling and crying, until he hadn't the strength for either any more. Scanning the shadows again and again for some lost icon. Someone to take him home.

Struggling to bring his breathing back under control, Remy wished he could look into all the corners of his room to make sure they were empty. He knew they were, his kinetic sense told him as much, but somehow it wasn't as reassuring as looking.

He couldn't restraina shout as a hand touched his back, becoming a figure that rose out of nothing so very close - too close. The hand was withdrawn almost immediately - but he was across the room with a charged card in his hand before he could think, and only the voice stopped his throw.

"Remy, stop!" Logan. It was Logan. In his bed because he'd asked him to stay the night. He'd held him, his embrace gentle in a way he'd never imagined for a man who was outwardly so coarse. He tossed the card and let the charge dissipate, dropping to his knees as the adrenaline seeped out of him. Logan dropped back onto the bed and Remy watched as his warmth disappeared in the camouflage of the body-warmed sheets.

"I din' see y'. 'M sorry."

"Ya had a nightmare?"

"Oui."

"About Warren?"

Remy snorted, almost feeling guilty that his thoughts weren't for his injured team mate. Not that he was part of that team anymore, he reminded himself. "Non."

"Should I just shut up?" Logan asked, the hint of a smile in his words. Remy came and sat back down on the bed, feeling a little stupid kneeling by the far wall. "Or should I leave?" The sound of his smile… and what a strange thought that was… the sound of his smile was gone from his words when Remy didn't reply.

"Non…" he denied quickly, "please. I'm sorry. Jus' gettin' m' head back t'gether."

"No worries." Remy tugged at his T-shirt, damp from sweat and clinging to his back. He never usually wore clothes to bed, but tonight he had made an exception, and he was beginning to regret it.

After the mayhem of the mission that evening, Remy had thought he'd never be able to sleep - his body pulsing with adrenaline and the knowledge of what he'd accomplished. Becoming a useful and active member of the team, if only for that one night. But as soon as he'd reached his room all of the adrenaline had seeped out of him and he'd barely been able to make it to his bed. He'd been quite happy sitting there watching the dance of movement and heat as Logan had undressed, **knowing** what was being revealed and fighting down his own rising heat, but as soon as he'd reached the bed Remy had become a little ball of tension; barely able to lie still, let alone sleep. Logan had reached out to touch him and he'd flown from the bed so quickly he'd tripped over a chair and spent a minute on the floor working through a couple of the richer shades of embarrassed while he apologised profusely. Logan's suggestion had worked and, clothed, he'd been comfortable enough to fall asleep in Logan's arms, feeling warm and totally protected. And now he'd jumped out of bed again, this time to threaten Logan with a card.

"Merde," he muttered to himself.

"What?" Logan pushed.

"I'm hopeless, y'know. Can' even spend th' night wit' y' wit'out…" He gestured vaguely.

"Ya had a nightmare. 'S nothin' big. Live through some of mine, then I think we'll be more than even." Remy laughed lightly and crawled back into Logan's arms, kissing his hands as they closed around him.

"T'ank y'," he sighed contentedly. "T'ank y' so much."

-

-

Remy woke feeling completely refreshed despite the night's trials, sure that it was heinously late in the afternoon and everyone would be up and out already. Logan was already up, the warmth of his body long since faded. But Remy hadn't woken feeling so relaxed in a very long time and he savoured it for a while before forcing himself out of bed and into the real world.

The day that had started so well quickly turned sour as, forgetting that he was at the mansion now and not in Leadenhall, he got out of bed on the wrong side - literally - and stubbed his toe on the desk. Swearing, and trying not to hop around, knowing that was asking for morepain when he was still trying to reorient himself, he put both feet on the ground and found the edge of the desk with his hand.

He knew he had to check in with Hank at some point since his return to the mansion, but he wasn't sure the big doctor would welcome him if he was busy with another patient. It was an excuse he thought he might be able to milk for a good long while if he put some effort into it.

Sitting back down on the bed he considered going back to sleep and trying to find that serenity he'd had earlier. He was now terrifyingly aware that to get breakfast he'd have to go through whoever else happened to be downstairs, and probably be subjected to their curiosity. Any slip he made today would seal their judgements of him.

"So, fuck 'em," he muttered to himself, with bravado he felt none of. Forcing himself up and out of bed he went to search out the clothes he had unpacked whilst half-asleepafter the troubling events of the night before.

-

-

The curiosity around him spiked as he wandered into the kitchen. He could see Scott by the sink - his face obscured by the energy that radiated from his eyes and stopped short when it reached his glasses. There was someone sitting on the sofa in the other room, and he knew he was visible to them through the big open doorway between the two - it was either Betsy or Jean, with long hair moving below her shoulders - and Bobby, half a shade 'darker' than the others in his sight, was in the armchair watching the TV.

"Any news on Ange?" he asked, feeling the tension that had been present even before he'd walked in.

"He's pulling through," Bobbyanswered quietly, unusually subdued.

"Hank decided against surgery last night. He's going to wait until he knows more, do some scans when Warren's had a chance to recover a little." Remy almost jumped at Betsy's voice - he'd assumed that she would be down there with Warren, and Jean would be closer to her husband. Betsy sounded tired.

Remy nodded and wandered the rest of the way into the kitchen, hesitating for a minute.

"Not'in' moved while I bin gone?" he asked Scott quietly, feeling foolish but unwilling to make an even bigger fool of himself.

"No. You should find everything where you expect to."

"Except your concealed packs of cigarettes," Jean growled from the doorway behind him. Remy turned and flashed her an apologetic grin. "Did I tell you I found four packs? And in the kitchen of all places. I dread to think how many more there are around the house." Only four? Remy pondered, reaching into the cabinet for a mug and trying to subtly check his hiding places for the remaining pack.

"Hank wanted to see you, by the way," Scott added. "He was a little annoyed at me for roping you into last night's mission before your checkup." Remy's fingers brushed across the pack of cigarettes in the sauce jug - rather delicate and rarely used in this household - that Jean had missed and discretely dropped them into a pocket, enjoying the knowledge that he still had one or two tricks up his sleeve. Carefully pouring himself a cup of coffee he dropped into an empty seat at the kitchen table, scowling at the foiling of his plan to avoid Hank.

"D'y' t'ink he'd notice if I didn' turn up?" Betsy snorted from the other room.

"You're such a pansy when it comes to checkups," she said, coming to join them at the table.

"Just go, Gambit. Get it over and done with," Scott pushed. Remy sighed.

"So, d' we hear from th' professor?" Gambit asked, aware that no one seemed to be planning the big rescue mission.

"His plane was delayed. He was going to contact Jean psychically last night, but realised she was in the middle of something. He left a message and Storm and Logan went to pick him up. You just missed them."

"'S a relief." Remy swirled the last dregs of his coffee around the cup, trying to draw it out.

"Yes it is," Scott sighed. "Now don't think I've not noticed you're delaying. Hank, now." With a melodramatic sigh and an overemphasised slouch, Remy shuffled out of the kitchen and headed down towards the lab.

-

-

Wandering into the lab, Remy found Warren in the bed closest to Hank's office, surrounded by humming monitors and machinery. Remy stayed quiet, not sure if he was awake or asleep.

"If you're looking for Hank he's in his office," Warren provided tiredly, lifting up on one elbow. Awake then.

"T'anks, I'll wait," heanswered, finding a seat in the corner to hide in. **Logically,** he knew that if he just went and talked to Hank it would all be over before he knew it, and he could minimise the time he would have to spend in the lab with Warren, but he was going to have to work up some courage if he was going to willingly approach the doctor. Usually the Doctor found him before he found the courage to take that step. It had taken enough to get him through the door.

"You know… sometimes I think you're being brave." Remylooked up as Warren spoke again. "And then I realise it's not in your nature, so I guess you're just stupid." His insults were a little more desperate than usual, grasping at some sense of normality as his world failed.

"Guess so," Remy replied amiably. "Should I be afraid?"

"What?"

"I'm too stupid t' be brave? Neh? So is dere somet'in' 'm s'pposed t' be 'fraid of?"

"Are you not afraid? Not at all? Your life is… ruined, and by someone you loved. Are you not scared that there's nothing after this? Nothing but… living?"

"Livin' not 'nough f' you, Wings?"

"You know what I mean. No more superheroing, rescues, thieving… No more falling in love, one night stands. Just days and days of working to get from one minute to another?"

"Fallin' in love's easy if y' let it happen, Warren. Y' have Betsy…"

"As if she's going to stick around if I can't… be myself anymore." Remy shook his head, exasperated.

"Betsy ain' in love wit' y' image, Warren. She actu'lly loves you, t'ough god knows why, dere ain' much 'bout you dat's lovable."

"We were talking about you, not me." Warren's reply was almost a growl.

"Right," Remy replied wryly.

"How can you talk about love like that when Rogue's…"

"I still love her," Remyanswered abruptly, still not comfortable with any of the words that might have followed in Warren's tirade, despite the truth in them, "but I had help makin' peace wit' dat."

"You're mad."

Remy laughed. "Maybe dat's true." He grinned even wider. "M'be madness is what's gon' get me t'rough dis. Or maybe it's love."

-

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-

Logan stretched as he got out of the car, feeling as though he'd been driving all day. It had taken them almost two hours to get through the heaving traffic around the airport causedby the sudden arrival of several delayed planes. The professor had been on thelast of the lot, meaning they'd had to wait an extra hour for him to land and be processed. It didn't help that the protocol was that he had to wait until everyone else was off the plane before they could carry him off to his chair.

Now Logan was grumpy from having spent the whole day doing nothing, with Storm grinning at some private joke and asking him uncomfortable questions, and to top it off they'd hit rush hour traffic on the way back. He was just about ready to tear a hole in something. He looked up at the mansion's front door in the hopes of seeing Scott there demanding they joined the team for a training session, but no such luck. Movement caught his eye through the glass door leading into the kitchen and a smirk caught as he recognised the man sitting at the table.

Maybe that would do.

-

-

"Hey Punk." Scott looked up sharply, but Logan's gaze was on Remy and no one else. The object of his attentions looked up slowly, one eyebrow raised and a grin growing.

"What?" he snapped in mock-irritation. Storm came up beside Logan, looking fairly ruffled herself in Scott's eyes, but Remy ignored her. She asked a silent question of Scott, who only shrugged and returned to his paper, keeping half an eye on the antics around the table. Storm smiled and left silently, leaving Remy with an empathic kiss – a brush of love across his shields. Remy acknowledged it and turned his full attention back to Logan.

"Ya wanna play?" The question was half-threat, accompanied by the sound of blades extending. Remy's grin widened.

"Bring it on, Runt." Standing quickly, Remy knocked his chair over and was across the table in seconds, colliding with Logan's chest before he could react.

"HEY!" Jean's voice called from the doorway to the sitting room, having turned the corner just in time to witness the stunt. "No jumping on tables!" She was ignored as Remy and Logan went rolling out of the door into the hall.

Scott looked up as she took a seat at the table. "Should we stop them?" Jean looked around from where she had been trying to watch through the still-open door.

"Have we ever before?"

"No, but…" Jean frowned as Scott hesitated. "Logan might hurt him," Scott finished weakly.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Scott opened his mouth and then closed it with a short laugh.

"No, I guess not." Jean smiled.

"So we let them play."

There was a ceramic sounding crash from the hall.

"NO FIGHTING IN THE HOUSE!" Jean shouted, bolting from her seat into the hall. "GET OUT!" Scott sighed and smiled, going back to his paper. Everything was right in the world.

-

-

-

Finis

-

(There should be a sequel at some point, I have lots of material that didn't make it into this fic that I'd still like to use. We'll see. Oli)


End file.
